Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

She couldn’t sit up. Instead, she slowly curled into herself, unaware of where her fingers, her toes or anything apart of her, was, what it was touching. As if it’d all disappeared.

She was too tired – or afraid - to open her eyes. Delirious, she curled further and further into a ball, trying to forget the faint trickling of something cold and wet hitting her face. Many cold and wet things, small, and painful. She called out names, names of her parents, family, and of people she hardly knew.

But silence.

Breathing was difficult. And the strange irritation, the restlessness of her body regardless of being unable to move was driving her to tears. Even her tears were cold.

So fucking cold… But she was in a bus, fallen asleep, and it was spring and it never snowed in St Ives…

Aurora opened her eyes then, and above her was white and dark blue. The sky hindered to her. Softened sounds of wind. It was snow she felt hitting her face.

Snow?

If she weren’t so fucking cold, she would have panicked, she had enough awareness to know that perhaps the numbness saved her from doing something stupid. She lay there for a few moments out of her own volition.

A thick layer of snow suffocated her body, sparing her face only a little.

It had to be a nightmare, or a hallucination. She’d not been taken from a bus and into a snowstorm. “Help. Somebody… help me.” She didn’t shout, only whispered. Weird thoughts crossed her mind. Traffickers? Aliens? Maybe they abducted her and dropped her in a freezing tundra somewhere in Europe?

Or she was imagining it all. Dreaming it. Or maybe she’d already died, and this was some kind of purgatory.

No. She was alive. Her hands were bright red. Panic set in.

She couldn’t tell how bad it was, but she’d heard horror stories from her uncle who was once homeless in Inverness. During the winter, he’d nearly lost his feet and hands. Said they’d gone a bright red, he couldn’t feel them, and he had to rush to a public bathroom to put warm water over it. His skin still peels and he says it hurts to wear certain shoes or do certain things. It’d happened to him more than thirty years ago.

Something snapped in Aurora then. Clawing and crawling through wind and snow, muttering curse words under painful breath. It was too dark to see where she was going, and it was too quiet to hear too. Everything dampened. But she saw a glimpse of where she might have ended up.

The edge of a cliff.

Glaciers. High, high up.

“I nearly died … I’m going to die.”

Black silhouettes of even higher glaciers loomed above her, she had to make a choice, pick a direction or she was going to die in a snowy grave, never to be found, probably picked apart by wild animals if she was lucky.

Aurora started walking, pathetically holding herself and stumbling. The crunch of her footsteps barely registered, some spots the snow reached her knees, knees that were bare. A knee length dress, woolen cardigan and ankle boots was all she had against mother nature right then. And it wasn’t doing well.

More than fear and pain and cold, she felt like she was going insane. Walking an eternal path of darkness until at some point she might fall off a cliff. But not even a cliff came to save her from this misery.

“Somebody!” Aurora finally screamed out, and yet the snow dampened it. She fell to her knees and stared down at the palms of her hands. The tips of her fingers were now yellowing. And she was beginning to shiver.

In one swift moment, all hope was drowned with doom. A pure dread of dying like this, weighing her deeper into the ice cold white, and with it … a light. Light?

Blue and ethereal. Beautiful. It hissed and expanded in her hands and like it was an external part of her mind, it burst out in front of her. A miracle? She followed it, found it disappeared if she didn’t think? If she didn’t think hard enough. What was she thinking? It answered her regardless. A blue light guiding her through the darkness.

She chased after it, skin uncovered numb and stone to the touch, joints stiff and it was agonizing to keep moving, but she chased after it and she smiled, laughed breathlessly.

A house, what was left of it. But it wasn’t the ruins of wood and stone, but what sat behind it.

A town.

“Help! Help me!”

A figure ran to her. If she weren’t dying of hypothermia, she would have run from them but she fell into them, latched onto their clothes – their chainmail – and looked into the holes of their helmet.

“Gods …” They half carried her without any more words and kicked open a door.

Warmth. Actual warmth, actual people, actual shelter. She abandoned the helmet savior for the firepit in the center of the building. She was as close as she could be to the fire without catching aflame, and the smile left her face the moment she realized she wasn’t getting warmer, in fact, the proximity of warmth brought sudden pain.

“Come on, come on,” she whispered over and over, unable to remain still. She was shaking, every bit of her body was shaking.

“What happened? What’s wrong with her?”

“She came screaming, I didn’t know what to do.”

The two men argued, the helmet savior and a new voice. She felt their eyes on her as she got up and started jumping, purposefully shaking her limbs.

Nothing. She was still shivering and freezing cold.

“She’s freezing to death Dagur! Where’s Nelacar-”

Aurora was practically dancing around the building, half-hearing what the people were saying when a hand reached for her, spun her around.

Hallucinations. That was it. She was dying and she was hallucinating his eyes, his skin. But what striked her as the most odd was that he looked more annoyed than worried with her predicament. “Nelacar?” The woman said his name again.

He let Aurora go, “I’m no healer, Haran. Get her a blanket, hot food. What about Azura’s faithful. Get him up, he must know a spell.”

Aurora returned to the fire pit, defying the urge to start jogging and moving sporadically. Nothing was working. She was only getting colder, and her fingers were still red and numb. “A warm drink … someone, please.” She didn’t have to repeat, the woman, Haran, she responded immediately while someone else, a normal looking man, placed a fur blanket around her shoulders.

“You’ll be alright miss. My wife is getting you that warm drink,” he said, and it did comfort her, in spite of knowing she could still die.

“Here, let me.”

Another man – how many people were in this building – came to her, knelt with her and stole her hands away from the fire.

His skin was the same gold as that Nelacar, but he had no hood to cover his ears … Pointed. Aurora looked away and instead to his large hands holding hers. She tried to curl her fingers into his but couldn’t, he noticed.

“Can you save them, Naaril?” It was the man, Dagur. He sounded unhopeful and it frightened her. But he wasn't even talking about her life, he was talking about her fingers. Why was that scaring her more? She would survive this, but she might lose something else very important in the process.

Naaril … He didn’t say anything to reassure neither her or Dagur, and Aurora soon realized why.

He didn’t need to.

Golden light, much like the hue of his skin, and brighter than the gold of his eyes, ballooned in their joint hands, and traced down her forearms and to the rest of her. She sighed without meaning to, dazed and falling into his chest.

The pain was gone, and she was actually beginning to feel warmth, to feel alive again.

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

Aurora curled her fingers into his palms, peering up at a clearer face now she was free of near-death.

She found it beautifully disturbing. Human yet … not quite. He wasn’t human. This recognition of what was different urged her to look around the building.

She felt as if she’d walked into a film set, a medieval film. Everything was stone and wood, tables held no burgers or chips on porcelain plates, but meats and stews and wooden cups and jugs of wine. And the people …

If someone had told her all of this, told her what was going to happen on that bus, she would have thought she’d deny it, deem it impossible. But being here, she found it terrifyingly easy to believe she was in another world, and not just another part of Earth.

Naaril, the man with pointed ears and a strange bone structure, inhuman and beautiful, seemed to notice her sudden confusion, and the slipping of her hands from his. She thought he might speak when the woman, Haran, came to her with a cup of steaming water, and he walked away.

Aurora wasn’t an avid reader, but she knew of elves in literature. She certainly knew them from the movies she’d seen, though she wasn’t a fan of fantasy or anything of the sort. But she knew, Naaril and Nelacar were elves of some kind, and she wasn’t in a world with cars and planes and phones and modern medicine.

And what surprised her most was how easy she believed it, and seemingly began to accept it in the few hours since she reached the town and was saved by that guard… and by that light, from her very own hands.

The light was eerily similar to the golden light from Naaril’s hands. Had she actually done that? Or had she imagined it in that snowy hell?

She massaged her hands, still sat by the fire pit and eating up its warmth, snuggled into the fur blanket, biting at a bit of bread and sipping at another cup of hot honeyed water Haran – who’d now gone downstairs - had given her through the night.

Dagur remained at the bar of the tavern, every now and then coming to check on her. Nelacar had disappeared into one of the rooms. A lone man sat by his lonesome, too busy with his drink to study her the way Naaril was currently watching her from the other side of the fire.

She didn’t mind, in fact, she knew it was probably because of the way she looked – was looking - at him.

It was only him and Nelacar who were elves. The others looked human enough, maybe taller than average. They all spoke with accents she knew were familiar, but not enough that she didn't notice.

Naaril… He’d saved her. Healed her. It felt as if she hadn't experienced hypothermia in the same night. And for this, she felt indebted to him most of all. Like he’d given something of himself to her.

He looked away at some point, and it gave her a chance to properly observe his dark blonde hair, shimmering under candlelight, and curling around his shoulders, half of it tied behind his head. The golden hoops in his ears. And his attire, the most odd out of everyone. Not robes or tunic, but armor. Leather and cloth and chain. And he looked tired, dozing off in his seat. He must have been asleep when she came in and started dancing around the fire like a madman.

She eventually dozed off too, dreaming normal dreams. Of getting in fights with co-workers at the cafe, of making weird drinks, celebrity crushes as customers. Dreams of childhood, of past friends, of people she didn’t know.

It was a rude awakening when she opened her eyes to the new world. Soot and fire embers falling lightly on her sweat-glazed face, body aching from the stone floor, legs caught in the blanket she had rolled herself up in.

“What time is it?” Aurora asked Dagur as he gave her a bowl of boiling stew. It smelled good, but it didn’t look as appetizing as she’d hoped. The meat looked like venison or rabbit. There was potatoes and leeks. She tried not to look hesitant, especially with him watching, but her face scrunched up as she chewed down on a fatty bit of meat.

He looked more concerned than offended.

“It’s early morning, miss… You’re looking much healthier.”

She went to speak, before accidentally swallowing some broth the wrong way and choking.

“This is – this is really good,” she said between coughs, watching as he quickly walked away. It tasted awful.

Aurora wasn’t making the best impression and she didn’t want to begin to think about what was outside, or how long they’d let her hang around. It was an inn, she gathered that much, an inn she wasn’t a patron of. And she had no coin to give them, and even if they would’ve taken her own money, she didn’t have her wallet. Whatever happened on that bus ride home, her belongings hadn’t come with her.

She wondered if maybe she’d died during her sleep. Maybe hours and hours of the bus doing its circuit, the driver would see her still there, and try to wake her up and …

“You’re certain you’ll return after?”

The entrance door opened, allowing a gust of cold wind to race through and hit Aurora’s bare legs, she recoiled into herself before realizing who was coming in.

“I promise, Brelyna. It’ll be a short trip, and you know the college is like my home now.”

A woman was following alongside him, and she seemed more than a little disappointed. Aurora should have been enamored with the woman – Brelyna – her dark grey skin and wonderful eyes but found herself focused on the man – or elf – who saved her.

Naaril met her gaze, and without thinking she made her way to him, bowl of stew left by the fire and only half-eaten.

“Hi …” She didn’t know what to say. She had nothing to give him. And she felt stupid. Stupid and embarrassed over something that might not be real yet. He waited all the same. “I just wanted to say thank you, again. I nearly died, or at least lost my fingers,” she laughed nervously, looking between him and the woman.

“I think you being alive and intact is good enough reward. It wasn’t anything, really.” His lips quirked briefly, and it didn’t reach his eyes, he was more interested in a room behind her, taking long strides past her as if she was a nuisance.

“It’s good Naaril was here,” Brelyna said, smiling gently, pulling her hood down. Pointed ears. Short black hair. Another elf? “How are you feeling? Skyrim is a harsh and cold land. It took me a long time to adjust to it all.”

Aurora was caught between two conversations, the one she was part of with Brelyna, and the one Naaril was having – more like a heated discussion - with who sounded like that Nelacar guy. The guy who didn’t seem to give a rat’s ass she was dying of hypothermia last night.

“I’m feeling much better, and warmer… what is Skyrim?”

“Why would I give you anything after what you pulled?” Nelacar raised his voice, and everyone in the building turned to look at the two elves leaving the room. Including Brelyna, whose confusion at Aurora’s question disappeared instantly.

Nelacar was fuming, Naaril was determined more than anything.

“By the Divines you arrogant arse, all I want is the scroll. Here, you can have the damned star.” Naaril pulled, well, a star, out of his leather backpack and held it out to Nelacar who didn’t seem to want a bar of it.

“It’s practically useless now. But if me giving you this gets you to leave my sight, then good riddance.”

Naaril took the small bag from Nelacars hands without another word and made his way to Brelyna.

“You could have gone to the college,” Brelyna said, clearly as baffled as Aurora at the argument that just occurred.

“Yes, but I’m trying to avoid Tolfdir, he’ll want to know why I’m leaving so soon.”

“We’d all like to know. It doesn't sound like a 'short trip'.”

Naaril didn’t answer her, beginning to look solemn. He tried to distract himself by looking down at Aurora. His eyes were discomforting. She stared back at him in silence for a bit.

“I don’t think I’ll go east, rather not be any closer to Windhelm. I’ll go through Wayward Pass.”

Skyrim? Windhelm? Wayward Pass? Where was she?

“Do you even know where you’re going, Naaril?”

“I’ve a map.”

“What about supplies?” Brelyna eyed his knapsack thing, it didn’t look like it could carry much. He didn’t seem to care, and all Aurora wanted to know was where the fuck they were, and where he was going.

She was beginning to panic, foolishly standing by the two elves as they countered back and forth about his supposed trip to somewhere called Ivarstead. And what would happen to her? She’d have to stay in this inn for the rest of her life possibly, or until she magically woke up in that bus.

She worked at a café, surely she could work here. Drinks, cleaning, a bit of customer service… It wasn’t looking good, it was cold and miserable here. Dagur and Haran looked bored, who seemed to be their child ran past with a stick just as bored, the tavern was basically empty, and outside was a wintery hell.

She couldn’t stay here, she’d been here not a day and she couldn’t stand it.

Maybe Ivarstead was where she needed to be?

Conflicted, like back by those glaciers… The light.

She turned from Naaril and Brelyna, closed her eyes and tried to think the thoughts she had when the blue light appeared in her hands.

Where do I need to be? What should I do?

She didn’t feel anything. Had it been the fear that activated whatever it was, a spell of some kind? Hand-held stars and spells and elves. There was magic here and she knew she used it out by those glaciers.

“Come on,” she whispered, holding her palms up.

“I wish I could tell you Brelyna, I do. But I just can’t. It’s too absurd to explain, and you're right, I honestly don't know how long I’ll be gone.”

A gasp escaped Aurora’s mouth, a strong brush of warmth echoed throughout her body, through her hands, and there in the palm of them, a crystal blue light expanded and trailed behind her … and straight to Naaril.

And there he stood, unaware of the blue light swirling around him, unaware of Aurora unable to take her eyes away from his tall form.

She didn’t think before doing it, like she didn’t think before following the light in the snow. She just … did it.

“I want to go with you.”

They looked at her, stunned.

“I’ll go with you… to wherever you’re going.”

He frowned. “You don’t know me, and you almost died out there-no. You’re not. I’m not a mercenary or guide.”

“I’m not from here if you haven’t noticed. I don’t belong here. Please,” Aurora begged, “Just until you get to … Ivar ...”

“ … Ivarstead.” He corrected her, looking less and less convinced.

“You’re going there anyway, please, just let me go with you. I won’t be a bother, I’ve gone hiking and camping before,” she was spewing rubbish, speaking faster and faster as she tried to convince him. To convince herself. She was close to tears. Couldn’t meet either of their stares.

She needed to get out this inn, this town or city or whatever it was. See what she was dealing with, and she knew she would be least likely to die if with him. And the light, it had to mean something.

“Do you know where you are now?”

She shook her head.

“Winterhold. You’re in the Frozen Hearth in Winterhold.” He spoke so matter of fact, that she felt she should have known this regardless of the truth that she really didn’t and shouldn’t. “Ivarstead is a town that could be a week’s journey from here. On foot through harsh Skyrim wilderness that almost took your life last night. There could be bandits, ice wraiths, trolls, wolves, bears. I won’t stop for anything. I’ll only set up camp – and hardly that – when I can no longer walk.”

She had the thought he might mention dragons in his speech meant to terrify her. And it did, it did scare the shit out of her. Almost… almost, tempt her to forget asking, to forget the light that led her to him.

“Look, I know I’m not meant for ‘Skyrim Wilderness’ and ‘Winterhold’ and all these places you keep referencing, but I need to do something. I’m lost, really, really lost, and just now blue fucking light came out of my hands and straight to you.”

The blue light caught him off guard, as it did Brelyna. Dagur was watching from afar, sensing the heated conversation between the two of them. She was making a scene. Everything felt tense and all she wanted was some sort of normalcy.

His face went stern, as sharp as his bone structure that was indeed very elven looking and impressive. He eyed her up and down, judged her clothes, and the sternness was swapped for uncertainty.

She confused him, she sensed it the moment they touched hands last night. Someone was bound to realize she really wasn’t from here.

“You’ll need warmer clothes.”

She sighed with relief.

Chapter Text

It all transpired so fast. Aurora at his heels when he paid in his own coin – whatever currency they had – for her own knapsack of food and waterskins. He left the inn and she panicked that he changed his mind, but he hadn’t. He returned with a dress – or tunic, bright blue and plain - a little tight on her waist and arms, but warm, a pair of boots and a heavy fur from some huge game, something to wrap around her shoulders.

It felt and looked ancient Scandinavian, like she had been transported through time and into an early northern European country.

She must have. Aurora wanted to run back inside the moment falling snow touched her face, the tip of her nose, her eyelashes.

Winterhold.

A township, small. Medieval. Hardly anyone walked around besides guards, the first to save her from death. But what pushed her to silence and awe wasn’t knowledge that living out in this world were strange people - elves and tall humans – but the structure up ahead.

“What’s that?” She asked Naaril as he finished prepping his belongings.

Blue lights reached high up in the sky from many points within the stone fortress. “The college of Winterhold. It’s a school of magic, one of few in Tamriel.”

Tamriel? First it was Skyrim, and now it’s Tamriel.

“Is that where you’re from?”

He was annoyed but did his best to hide it.

“No.” Golden eyes glistened under new sunlight, breaching through clouds, they considered the school, “I only studied there.”

They took a stone path for a little bit, Aurora struggling to keep up with his long and fast strides.

It’d been so long since she felt snow, the last time was when she was a child, visiting family in Scotland. She much preferred the temperate weather in St. Ives, the sandy beach, the crystal-clear water, the colorful roofed houses.

It was a long while, only after passing a ginormous statue of a woman holding a star – just like the one Naaril owned – and a moon in each hand, that he spoke to her.

“So where are you from? High Rock, Hammerfell?”

If he’d been looking at her face he would have known the answer.

“I’m from Cornwall.”

Deep down she hoped he might laugh and say, ‘joke’s over’. ‘We’re just pranking you’, a horrible, nasty prank. But he looked back at her, curious, kept walking, but kept glancing back to her.

Aurora felt like an animal, an exotic animal.

“You aren’t from Tamriel then?”

“Nope. Britain.”

The trudge through cavernous cold and wet snow continued off the path, and over rocky terrain, through trees, past mountains and structures in the distance near unseeable by the violent wind. It could have been hours, or less. And she was growing tired, thankfully not shivering. The new clothes were doing their job.

Naaril was doing great. He was tall and fit, and looked as if he did this a lot. Hiking through treacherous lands.

“So... where are you from?”

“Alinor.” It was quickly answered and not elaborated on.

The journey was going to be long and quiet, but she didn’t stop trying to make conversation. Even if they had naught in common, not even the world they lived on in common.

“You’re an elf right?”

“Yes.”

“Is Brelyna also an elf?”

“She is… Do you not know anything about anything? You sound like a child.”

Up until that point Aurora had her eyes on the ground they walked, but the tone of his voice suggested he was actually … amused? She peered up to find him glancing back at her, a new kind of expression on his face.

Softer. A smile. It was pretty.

“I guess not. Maybe you could answer some questions. It’ll be something to do while we walk through … all this.”

Naaril nodded.

She grew weary but didn’t want him to notice, so kept bombarding him with questions. And what she got in return made her mind as weary as her body.

Tamriel. The continent they were on. Skyrim, the country they were in. Elves, there was different races of elves. Naaril, an altmer, high elf, just like Nelacar. Brelyna, a Dunmer, or dark elf. College of Winterhold wasn’t the school of magic he was planning on studying at. The Arcane university of Cyrodill – the country south of Skyrim - was where he wanted to go, but without giving detail, he had to make a change of plans due to an unexpected hindrance.

“Where are high elves from again?”

Every time she asked him about … himself, of Altmer, he became uncomfortable, as if only bad memories remained of his home and who he was.

“Summerset Isles. I was born in its capital.”

The sun was waning by the time they reached Wayward Pass, rock that had formed an archway, icicles and snow hanging scarily loose from a height. Aurora hoped he’d stop and let them rest there …

She swore, all but sprinted to his side, instinctively grabbing his arm.

On a stone bench lay skeletal remains. “It’s alright. It is a shrine.”

He did stop, and she clung to him. “A shrine to who?”

He pointed at the sculpture behind the skeleton, “Arkay. He’s the imperial God of birth and death.”

Aurora loosened her grip, felt the fear ease away. The sculpture was beautiful, and suddenly disturbance became a sense of solemness. Who lay there? She couldn’t tell if it was a man or woman, if they were even human or elven.

Didn’t matter. They didn’t stay long, and Aurora felt the need to be quiet, to not ask questions, out of a weird desire to respect the dead. She also didn’t want to think about the skull she saw near to it, huge and with tusks. Bigger than an elephant.

The place was probably home to mammoths.

The urge to ask to stop was strong, and she didn’t think she’d make it.

It was late evening when a lone building appeared. “An inn, we can rest in shelter tonight.”

Nightgate Inn. A miracle. A blessing. A roof, fire, scent of food and drink. She could do with a hot chocolate and pumpkin soup, toasted bread with butter and a warm bath and so many more things she wasn’t going to get, but still, she was content with the inn that was holding only a whopping three people.

And one of them was – what the hell was he?

“Find us a table, I’ll be back soon.”

Naaril left her at a bench to go to the bar. And on the other side of the tavern was a man that had to be an orc straight out of a fantasy book. His clothing was noble and colorful, and he looked friendly enough but by the love of shit, that man was an orc.

Aurora forced herself not to stare. This was normal. She was the abnormal one, so she quickly shut her mouth and sat down, fiddling with the skirt of her tunic, ignoring the gaze of a man sitting at the table next to her.

She went to smile at him, say hello and realized it wasn’t her he was staring at, eyes filled with discomfort, it was the back of Naaril’s long blonde head. His stature. His golden ears.

“Come here a lot?” She asked, hoping to ease whatever tension there was that she had no understanding of.

“You see any other inns around here? Where else would I drink?”

Alright then. She went quiet and he went back to drinking. It was hard to mistake the sword at his hip as inviting.

“I bought us a room each. Yours is over there, you should get sleep, we’ll be leaving early.” Naaril finally joined her at the table, delving a hand into his knapsack for an apple. Instead of leaving him for the room, she did the same.

He didn’t expect her to stay, staring at her.

“I have to eat too, you know.” He smiled then. He looked less sleek, less intimidating when he smiled genuinely. “How early is ‘early’?”

“An hour before dawn,” he said in-between munching on an apple.

She mouthed an unexcited ‘great’ and he saw, but thankfully, didn’t remind her that she was the one who asked to come with.

“Back at the shrine, you said it was for an ‘imperial god’. How many gods are there?”

He considered the question thoughtfully.

“Well, it’s complicated. There are pantheons. The Imperials from Cyrodill, they have a pantheon, Arkay is a god in their beliefs… My kind, the altmer, we have our own pantheon, Arkay isn’t part of that, though the bosmer, wood elves, for example, they believe in Arkay... I’ve never really put much thought into all of it. When I was younger, I worshipped the chief god of the altmeri pantheon, Auri-El… but that was a long time ago.”

Naaril’s face dropped, it felt as if the source of his discomfort came down to this altmeri pantheon.

It's not like she’d understand any of it better if she interrogated him.

“Most of my family are Christians. I’m not.” She realized he had no idea what she was talking about. “Christianity is an Abrahamic faith, there’s no pantheon though. There’s one God, but he’s kind of three in one. The Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.”

“A trinity?”

“Yeah, I think so. You can’t have one without the other.”

The conversation ended after that, especially when Naaril finally noticed the man beside them. Naaril looked at the blade and something crossed his face, not fear though.

Aurora was too tired to figure it all out right then and there. She went to leave for the room he bought her but stopped herself.

“I just realized you don’t know my name.”

He didn’t ask. Maybe he didn’t care to know. All the same, he waited for her to give it. Eyes not leaving hers.

“Aurora.”

Naaril glanced away, looked as though he was going to say something, but he never did.

Naari wasn’t exaggerating when he told Aurora ‘early’. It was most definitely earlier than an hour before dawn, and it was the first time she was able to see the night sky and its two moons.

Two moons.

She asked about them, how could she not? Aurora was pretty sure that was when he realized she really wasn’t from the same world. It was a surreal moment.

“The largest moon, that is Masser, the other is Secunda. They are the halved corpse of Lorkhan, the trickster God responsible for Nirn, this world.”

Aurora was caught between logic and mysticism. Afterall, if it was possible to awaken in another world entirely, with magic, maybe the night sky could be home to a dead God.

“Do you mean that literally? What if they’re just rock? Orbiting your world. Back in my home we have one moon, probably smaller than Masser. People have even walked on it.”

Naaril practically hit the brakes, stared at her in both skepticism and interest. “I’m not sure I believe you, Aurora.” The way her name left his mouth made her hairs raise. It had more of an affect than the snow – that had lessened greatly since leaving the inn – it made her feel cold.

“You don’t really have to, just like I don’t have to believe your moons are the body of a god. But I know what I know.”

His eyes squinted, and he made his way over to her, feet crunching through the top layer of snow.

“But you don’t know everything here. You're a stranger in these lands.... yes, perhaps your world’s moon is rock, but here, know that when you look up...”

He was gentle, but even the feather-light touch of his fingers under her chin, pushing her gaze up to the sky, had the greatest power she’d ever felt from someone else’s touch.

“...The darkness, the blackness is the void of Oblivion itself, where the Daedric princes reside in their realms. The stars, they are portals to Aetherius, the source of all magic, magic you said you used when we first met. And the planets you see there, and there." He pointed at different lights in the sky, she had no idea what she was truly looking at. “They are the Divines. Gods. And we stand in the heart of their creation, Dawn’s Beauty.”

Aurora kept her eyes at the beautiful night sky, apparently not really a universe she understood, but a portal to what sounded like the Heavens and Hell. He kept his hand under her jaw, tips of fingers lingering by her skin, her hair tangling with the wind by his hands.

It wasn’t until she looked back into his eyes that he started walking again.

Not long after dawn, as they trailed closely to a mountain side with gold ruins stemming up from them – Naaril calling them ‘Dwemer’ ruins – they came across what Aurora thought the word massacre was putting it lightly.

Burning meat, blood. She tried not to look too closely at the bodies sprawled on the ground, dismembered parts hanging from trees and rock. In a way it was easy to imagine none of this was actually real, that maybe she was in a dream, and all of this was like a movie and these people were actors, and it was all prosthetics.

Naaril walked slowly and quietly, observing the scene in front of them. “Bandits, maybe. Their hideout must be in there.” She followed his gaze to two doors built within a cave. A mine?

“What happened to them?”

A trail of blood led to those doors, and she prayed he wouldn’t go and investigate, because she wouldn’t follow him, regardless of that blue light.

“Dragon.”

She swore loudly. “Of course, I knew there would be dragons, why wouldn’t there be?”

He actually laughed, gesturing for them to leave and continue back on the path. “I thought the same thing when I got here. Skyrim truly is a treacherous land. My parents were right about that.”

She paid mind to his words but kept it to herself, hanging around a fallen tree.

How long had he been here? And why the fuck would he stay?

“What are dragons like? Giant lizards?”

He looked offended. “If we linger here, you might find out.”

Paranoia set in, and every howl of wind, or movement of innocent animal – foxes, rabbits and deer, she would have loved to take photos – had her hopping a step and reaching for Naaril.

Midday, they arrived at a pond or lake. The snow had dispersed, leaving for crisp, fresh air, and a hot sun.

They stopped to rest, to eat and drink, freshen up. Naaril was rather absorbed with what lay in the middle of the body of water.

A statue of a man atop of a foundation engraved with the faces of men. The statue was formidable. “Another shrine?”

That look passed him again, exactly the same as how he looked at that man in Nightgate inn.

“Talos. The ninth divine… Worship of him has been banned but his shrines remain, this one looks rather upkept. People must still come here. The Nords are stubborn.”

“Why was he banned?”

He huffed through his nose, and she knew he was considering not telling her, but something clicked in his eyes, maybe the way she smiled lightly at him, reassuring that she’d take the hint.

It was driving her crazy how human this elf was, and how not human he was simultaneously.

“When I was a child, in Alinor, there was a war between the Aldmeri Dominion – a union from my land – and the Empire. It went on for a few years, the treaty that ended it, one of its demands was worship of Talos, a human hero turned God, be forbidden.”

“Why did the war start?”

“Because the Aldmeri Dominion are supremacists. They believe Mer – elven kind - superior to Mankind. They falsely believe us descendants of Auri-El. It’ll one day be their downfall. Their arrogance is their weakness.”

And there it unveiled itself. Guilt. Shame. Anger. That was the look he gave that man, the look he currently wore, unfitting for what she thought an inhumanly beautiful face.

“That’s why you left your home?”

“No. Come, we’ve been here too long.”

“They look so peaceful. Nothing like you’d imagine.”

Naaril hummed in agreement, the two of them observing the camp from a respectful distance. One of the giants watched them, but upon knowing they weren’t planning on being a nuisance, they continued to herd the mammoths.

The ground shook, Aurora felt their every step reverberate up her body.

“Many forget it too. Jarls across Skyrim have sent out bounties on them.” Aurora felt a sharp anger, sadness.

“You haven’t …”

He smiled, “No. Besides not being a mercenary, I just don’t like to interfere. When I lived in High Rock, the giants there would sometimes trade with the Bretons and Orismer. They’re more intelligent than given credit for. Some scholars believe they’re descendants of the Atmorans. A long-gone race of Men. We passed their first settlement built in Skyrim, not long after we left Winterhold. Saarthal. I should have shown you.”

Aurora couldn’t help chuckling.

“What?”

“You’re … you know so much. I don’t think I know that much about my own world.”

Maybe it was jealousy. Naaril was so smart, and he wanted to share his knowledge with her, someone he at first didn't want to follow him. And here they were, sitting in grass and dirt, watching the giants, resting when he said they wouldn’t rest at all.

“I wish I was like that, is all.”

He didn’t say anything.

They set up camp that night near the giants, it comforted Aurora. Naaril explained his experience with the race, how once when he lived Daggerfall, a giant saved him from a bandit attack and then traded with him.

The both of them sit by a small fire Naaril lit with his hand. She observed carefully how he did it, the way he moved his fingers, tried it herself but nothing come of it.

“So…”

He arched his brows at her, long legs huddled to his chest.

“Why did you leave Daggerfall? Sounds like it was a good place.”

Aurora in the time they’d been spending together, even in the most private moments, peeing and well, taking shits out in the wild, she hadn’t given him time to ask her questions, and she tried to keep it that way. And she really didn’t want to think about why that was.

She liked to think it was because he wouldn’t understand, and she liked even less the truth, that she didn’t have anything to tell him at all.

“I thought - and now in retrospect, it’s quite ironic- that there was more out there for me.”

Aurora laughed, not entirely sure what he was referencing. She thought he might have meant her. The weird human following him around.

“I’ve always had a strong connection to Aetherius, to magicka, but I never pursued it. Home was chaotic, Daggerfall was consistent, stable. But …”

“You wanted to do more. Be more.”

Naaril didn’t reply, or nod, he didn’t need to. The look he gave her said it all. Silence commenced, and Aurora felt her skin warm, her stomach flutter at how beautiful the gold of his entire being brightened under the moons, or the body of a Trickster God. Like he really was connected to the stars and sky.

“What is your story, Aurora? You’ve done an excellent job of avoiding the topic.”

She laughed again, this time without weight or sincerity. What was her story? Should she make something up? Something exciting? She’d disappoint him with how mundane she was.

“Well, I was born in Cornwall, like I said, and stayed there. I worked at a … a tavern,” she surmised they didn’t have little cafes and ice cream shops around here. “I lived with my parents and siblings. Sometimes visited family in their home up north.”

That was it. She could say she went out drinking with friends, loved the smell of the sea, loved how clear and blue it was especially in winter. Could say she loved Sunday roasts with her family.

But that was it. She’d never been anywhere else, she’d never left Britain. Never experienced her world like he had and does his.

“What is Cornwall like?”

He was disappointed. Wanted more.

“It’s the most southern part of my country. And where I lived, on the west coast, the town was colorful, vibrant. We faced a... the sea. The beaches were always packed. The sand was actual sand, even the water was crystal clear. A rare gem. Inland had river valleys, beautiful green grasslands. I loved when my parents would drive us around, I found it so calming to look out the window… to see the world fly past me.”

She was romanticizing it, but her home did deserve that much. It was beautiful, and it was hard to pretend she was fine with the possibility of never seeing it again.

She wasn’t fine. Aurora was so far from fine, and she was shocked at how well she’d dealt with the turmoil so far.

“My home, in Alinor... I still have dreams about it. The towers of glass, the sun shining down eternal. The waters there were clear too, as I remember. Looking back, I never appreciated how very beautiful the city was.”

Aurora smiled, “I understand. It's weird, home always felt boring when I was there, at least monotonous. But…”

“When you can’t be there, it sounds like the most extraordinary place in the world," he finished for her.

The most extraordinary place in the world… It hit the hardest when she tried to sleep, no shelter but the portals and abysses of Naaril’s universe above her.

That night was the first night she dreamt of it. Black wings. She woke up before Naaril did, sweating and waiting for an incoming doom. Black wings, and what felt like the world ending. What felt like her world ending.

She never wanted to dream it again.

Chapter Text

“So, what’s your deal with Ivarstead?”

“I could ask you the very same question. What’s your deal with Ivarstead?”

Aurora didn’t have to pretend she was shocked. It was so out of left field she instinctually stopped walking for a moment, then started laughing. Naaril looked back at her.

His eyes followed her every movement. The laugh, the smile. “I’m being serious,” she finally said, making her way past him, in the direction they were originally going. Right towards a terrifyingly fast river. How they were going to cross it … Aurora would leave it to him.

“As am I. What’s your goal here?”

All humor left then.

She felt it. It was prickling her skin, heavy in her stomach. Anxiety.

Aurora had no idea. She’d forgotten whatever her plan was, too concerned with trying not to twist her ankle, holding in pee, watching the sky for dragons, looking at Naaril, his every movement. Deep down, afraid, that he might abandon her.

She didn’t stop and wouldn’t have if a hand didn’t touch her shoulder, turning her around. “You can’t follow me forever.” And serious he was. Expression firm and honest. Even with the dirt dusted across bright skin and in his hair, she’d never seen him so serious.

And it was sudden.

That fear came back, present and real. Mimicking what she felt in the snow, in that Winterhold tavern. “I don’t know … but that blue light. It led me to you.” Naaril looked uncomfortable, huffed through his nose.

“This ‘blue light’. What do you think it means?” For a moment she thought he might have been genuine, but it was irritation.

He'd noticed it, her attachment to him. Like trying to rip a band aid off, finding the right way to do it. What will hurt less? What will get rid of this human girl?

She’d said in the deal they made … only till Ivarstead. But she didn’t want that. Because who else would she follow? What else would she do but forever watch Naaril. She had nothing to offer him. He sighed, releasing her shoulder, reminding her that he hadn’t let go of her in the small silence.

His hand was buzzing, feverish even through the woolen tunic.

“Come on, all that matters is getting across this.”

Aurora didn’t intend it, but the heightened emotions, he wasn’t harsh enough to ignore. She felt as though she was manipulating him. He gives her a truth, she shuts down, they move on. The thought led to a more devastating notion.

This was exactly what she was like on Earth.

Naaril helped her cross the water, the force of it enough to knock her off her feet, almost lost to the current. Him grabbing the back of her tunic, dragging her through the terribly freezing river. Him casting a spell, something of fire and warmth, drying them as much as he could.

It was silent. Aurora took to watching the sky, the clouds, the sun. Naaril took to watching the land, the steep and dangerous hills they were to make their way through, and up. Small animals made appearances, observing the two with a distant haze over their dark, animal eyes.

Aurora wanted to speak. But didn’t know what to say. The tension between them didn’t last long.

A group of people stood at the bridge they were supposed to take. Grey robes, fur hoods.

For once Aurora felt as if her instincts were good, attuned to the world around her. Something was off. Naaril sensed it too, hands flinching with incoming adrenaline.

The people caught sight of them, yelled out.

Something about an attack.

“It’s a trap… vampires.”

Fucking vampires. Of course.

She wanted to panic, ask how he knew when she couldn’t tell the difference, but she finally saw the bodies hidden well enough in shrubs. Naked and bloody.

Aurora thought they might run, bypass the vampires altogether. And maybe the vampires thought so too, because she’d never heard someone scream the way one of them screamed.

Flames, a ball of fire, erupted from Naaril’s hands. She felt its heat, not just physically, something shifted inside her, like she was ascending. Like she was going to erupt with fire herself, or that blue light.

The vampires had their own magic. Ice, shards and frost.

There was a beauty to it all. The colours, vibrant and distracting from flesh being burnt, disintegrated. Frozen and broken. Aurora didn’t know what her body was doing, only that it was doing.

Sprinting after Naaril. The gracefulness in his hands, fingers. His every step. He was in the midst of it all, coldness and heat, red, blood red. Red magic traced past her, around her. The presence of it alone made her eyes droop, her heart slow.

“Bleed for me mortal!”

Animalistic and hungry and depraved. Hissing. Aurora fell into a body but scrambled back to her feet. Any sense of this being a dream vanished when a hand grasped her head, nails digging into scalp, fingers pulling on her hair. Falling back into a body.

So cold.

A dagger in her back.

Bleed.

That shifting, uncomfortable and feverish inside her. It felt as if whatever was controlling it snapped.

Bleed.

Aurora yelled, roared. Death… undeath, undead, she heard whispered underneath her skin. Her fingers spasmed, back arched.

The ground, her body, the body latched onto her, all of it tremored. Heat stole Aurora’s breath and she fell to her knees, eyes rolling into the back of her head, collapsing with loose limbs.

And all was quiet.

Burn.

“Aurora.”

She dreamt of a Sun. So bright and hot, she felt as if it was destroying her entire existence. Floating in stars and darkness, cold and warm, water and fire, whispers and screams.

“Aurora. Come on. Wake up, you stupid human.”

And like an eclipse, light was slowly devoured, black wings spanning the stars. Maw and teeth, swallowing the world. Zu'u fent nahkip nau hin joor zii.

“Aurora!” She jolted from the ground, grabbed onto Naaril as if he was the only thing keeping her tethered to reality, whatever this reality was.

The world was brilliant with light, the sun remained as did the vast green land and its rocky terrain. “Aurora, look at me.” Rough skin pulsed on hers, his hands holding her face, thumb moving hair stuck to her forehead.

Breathe.

Something like a migraine hit her, she seethed and hissed but he wouldn’t let her go. “You must breathe.” Aurora nodded thoughtlessly, yes, she had to breathe. And she did, recapturing her breath, focused only on Naaril. His large golden eyes. The braids in his hair, the glint of jewellery along his ears. And in the background …

Aurora’s mouth dropped.

They were gone. All of them. The ground enveloped with ash, its sound and smell overwhelming. Nothing remained of them but their ashes. “What did you do?” She asked, but he didn’t answer.

He was silent, searching her eyes. Aurora grew more and more confused. “Naaril, what happened?”

The tremors took over her last she remembered, she lost control of her body.

“You…” he struggled to find words, releasing her face and gently grabbing her hands, turned them over. His larger fingers feeling for something. “You don’t know?”

She knew then. It had been her.

Aurora swore, stumbled to her feet observing the massacre in front of her. The bridge free of vampires. She’d killed them. The arch of her back, her hands, the force that came out of her.

“Your magicka will be low, you’ll feel tired. Here.”

A bottle of liquid, blue and shimmering. It tasted horrible, but the moment it fizzed in her mouth, the moment her stomach absorbed it, strength returned to her. Focus and calm. The world wasn’t so loud and bright and painful.

“I’ve never killed anyone before.”

“I gathered that much. But not to worry, they were dead already.”

The mountain was insanely steep, Aurora’s legs ached, and she kept having to stop. Had she not showed off an hour or more before, she feared he might have run off on her, left her at the bottom of the treacherous terrain they had to cross.

“We’re nearly there. Don’t give up now, it’d be sad if you did.”

Aurora swore and yelled between her scoffs at his humour, constantly slipping down a few steps, but he was right. She’d come this far. Survived a tundra in a skirt, convinced him to take her with him, managed to sleep in the wilderness and the greatest feat of all, she killed about four vampires without being conscious.

Magic. So, she did have magic.

And it seemed to be something impressive, the way he looked at her when she awoke from that awful dream. A prideful bone in her body gleamed at the thought that she might be more powerful than the strong Naaril, who could heal and destroy with golden light and fire and who knows what else.

But the rest of her was afraid. Even back home, she’d never had any extreme talent. She wasn’t an artist, musician, genius or athlete. She just was … She was Aurora. She had family, siblings who were more special. Her older sister, Maude, was studying to be an epidemiologist. Yes, Aurora was content, liked working at Olive’s café. But she didn’t have dreams, she was never able to see a greatness in her own future.

Yet it all felt meaningless in this world. And perhaps it had been meaningless too in her own world. Lost. Without ambition. A trait she couldn’t grow out of. Like nothing felt meant for her.

Magic however, it felt powerful, it felt like it could be meant for her.

They eventually made it to the peak of the small mountain, small in the context that they were surrounded by summits reaching so high she didn’t know where they stopped. One in particular, the one they were circling, she doubted it was possible to climb. And Naaril couldn’t stop staring at it. Every few moments, he’d gaze at it, as if it was haunting him.

“It’s massive.”

Naaril nodded. “The Throat of the World. Tamriel’s highest mountain.” There was disquiet in his gaze, like he could see something there she couldn’t. “Ivarstead is at the base of it. Not long to go.”

The hike from then on was downhill. Wind, cold and refreshing bellowed from the mountains, cooling her skin. “Beautiful,” Aurora said. The environment here was pleasant. Trees, shrubs, rich plants and flowers, mushrooms. Naaril picked at some, storing them in his satchel.

“I believe we’re in the Rift. This land must be a hunter’s dream.”

His statement was proven correct, and not in the way she’d hoped.

Aurora may not have seen a bear in person, but she recognized one’s growls and huffs, it set something primal off inside her. Unfortunate timing led them to meeting paths.

It was huge. A brown bear, but bigger. There was a beauty to its pure animal strength, and if she hadn’t been in their line of sight, she’d thought it cute. “Don’t run.” Naaril said, not a waver in his voice as the bear stood on its hind legs.

Aurora felt it again, that feverish buzzing. Green light flooded the corner of her vision, swarming Naaril’s hands and flying towards the bear.

Aurora feared he was going to kill the animal, but instead its dark eyes glowed and it fell back on its fours. Sniffed the air, peered at them without its own primal fear and defense, and walked away.

“How did you do that?”

Naaril smiled. “You’re more impressed with an illusion spell than with fire magic?”

She was, for some strange reason, delighted with the idea that he chose peace over violence. “I guess… I don’t really know how magic works.”

What she said ignited something in him, and she recognized it right away. Just like her sister, in love with knowledge, with teaching and learning. Prideful in understanding how the world works, how their world works. “Well, there are schools of magicka. The spell I just cast, Pacify, is taught in the school of Illusion. It calms most mortal creatures. The blue light you saw in Winterhold, it was Illusion magic too. Clairvoyance, a spell that leads you to your true path.”

He paused, considering what that meant for both of them.

It made him uncomfortable, like it disturbed him that Aurora’s path was to find him, was … him.

Aurora felt offended suddenly, without knowing why. It didn’t matter, soon they’d be in Ivarstead and he’d be free of her.

“What spell did I cast back at that bridge?”

“Bane of the Undead. A powerful Restoration spell.”

He continued on then, and Aurora was left with the whispering words in her skin, inside her, as if it was muscle memory. The spasm in her fingers, the heat, the dream after.

Black wings.

Vilemyr Inn. Bigger than Nightgate, busier and warmer than Frozen Hearth. It was her favorite one yet. They reached Ivarstead that evening and went straight into the tavern. The inkeeper didn’t seem so happy with Naaril, something about ‘magic users’. Aurora supposed he wouldn’t be happy with her either if he knew what she did earlier that day.

Naaril wasn’t bothered, expression the same as always, unmoving like stone. Aurora overheard him asking about the ‘Seven Thousand Steps’ and ‘High Hrothgar’.

Aurora wanted to talk to him. About anything. About what he planned to do, what the Seven Thousand Steps were. If this was truly it… If this was where they parted ways.

She was frightened. She didn’t know how she’d admit it to him, that she didn’t want him to leave her. She hardly knew him, only that he had his own shames and haunts he would probably never share with her. That he was intelligent, dangerous but not unkind.

He’d been nothing but good to her. Truly.

She watched as he handed coin to the inkeep, heard him renting a room, pointing towards her in the back corner. She hoped something would change, that’d he'd walk over to her and ask her to follow him. Admit she’d been good company, that he wanted to help her understand magic, this world.

But instead, he talked with everyone else. Avoided her.

The people he spoke to were friendly, most were Nords if she remembered what Naaril told her of the people of Tamriel correctly. One man looked to be a wood elf.

“Anything you can tell me about High Hrothgar?”

“Always thought it was odd that there’s a thick layer of clouds covering the peak of the mountain above the monastery. Hah, not sure what’s up there, but I bet the Greybeards know.”

Aurora was being nosey; she knew it was inappropriate, but she couldn’t help it. She gathered High Hrothgar was a monastery, and that it was on a mountain’s peak, and most probably the Throat of the World, seeing how often Naaril kept staring up at it.

She pieced it together. He hadn’t come here for Ivarstead at all. He’d lied to his friend or whoever Brelyna was to him.

A horrible feeling engulfed her stomach. Who was Brelyna to him? The way he talked with the bard, a Nord woman, tall and beautiful, reminiscent of how he looked at Brelyna before they left Winterhold.

Golden eyes flickering about her face, a smile on his lips.

Jealousy.

“Jesus,” Aurora chastised herself, looking away to save herself some trouble. Sat down at a table and fiddled with her tunic, she noticed the stains then, how feral she must have looked. Dirt, wet grass … blood.

Fingerprints of blood on the waist and stomach of the wool.

It was her blood, the knife at her back nicked her skin. Maybe Naaril had found it and healed it while she was unconscious. Nothing hurt there.

She wondered what she looked like, then and now.

Aurora combed dirt ridden fingers through her hair. Compared it to Brelyna’s and the woman he was speaking to. She hadn’t meant to do it, but she did. Hers wasn’t clean but caked with the wild. She began to feel envious for a bath, not attention.

But still, it lingered in her mind.

What did Naaril think of her? What did he see? Did he notice the intense curls of her hair? How dark brown looked auburn in certain light? She’d impulsively dyed it not long before the incident, waking up in Tamriel. Did he see the freckles? The aquiline shape of her nose? The darkness of her eyes and skin?

Or was she just Aurora, a nuisance.

The human he saved and couldn’t get rid of.

“I’ve bought you a room, you should get rest.”

Aurora peered up at him, he gave nothing away, and she almost went to give her everything away. Barely strong enough to hide it.

“Thank you Naaril, I mean it. I don’t have anything to give but…” Aurora moved as to give him back the knapsack he bought for her, he shook his head, stopped her.

“Like you said, I was coming here anyway. Go, rest. You deserve it.” He was smiling, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

Her fears were true then. She could only nod, didn’t say goodbye or another thank you. Didn’t want to make that real yet, but she was tired and sore, she did need to sleep.

She thought she might have felt his eyes on her as she left his side, for the room. Thought that she might have heard him whisper her name. Thought he might have waited for her to wake again.

She fell asleep fast, using the fur he gave her when they first met as a blanket. The dreams were calm in the beginning. They were of home. Of work. Of the ocean.

She swam in clear waters, felt alive by the heat of the sun … The Sun. Her dream self knew it was coming, expected it. The eclipse of black wings. Zu’u fent nahkip nau hin joor zii. Hin zii ahrk slen los dii.

Aurora jolted awake, sweating and in a panic. Not much time could have passed, outside the room was loud and busy as before, but on the table beside the bed was a bag of coin and a letter.

Naaril…

It was a goodbye.

He was gone.

Chapter Text

A memory returned to Aurora as she read the letter. A bittersweet memory, funny in some ways.

When her mum and sister, Maude, went away to South Africa to visit family. They were gone for a week and a bit, far too long for Aurora at the time. She’d wanted so badly to go with them.

But she couldn’t. Her parents hadn’t wanted to take her or her younger brother out of school. A sad realization that she never got the chance to visit her mum’s home country hit her.

She might never get to visit.

When they left, it felt as if the soul had been ripped from the household. Aurora, her dad, and brother were lost, spiritually fractured almost. Aurora cried nearly every night until they returned.

It was the small things.

The scent of mum’s perfume, the noise she made in the morning when she got up for work. Mum’s Bobotie for dinner on Monday nights. Maude helping Aurora and her brother, Josh, do their homework. Maude doing Aurora’s hair in the mornings before school, just because she loved to play with her little sister’s hair.

It was so brief but felt like an eternity.

Aurora feared that’s what Naaril’s absence would feel like.

Tense as he could be, she couldn’t deny being drawn to him. Whether it was her mind playing tricks from him saving her, paying for her survival. Or they really were connected, a magic bringing her to him.

And she couldn’t deny the spell that led her to Naaril. Clairvoyance, she understood that word. Sixth sense. Somewhere inside her knew he was in that tavern, and it wanted to be by his side.

Was it to bring her here? Or was it him?

What he wrote in the letter – not that were many words- wasn’t unkind, or apathetic. His handwriting was elegant, hard to understand, but familiar in how he talked.

Simply put, he advised her to travel south, far away from Skyrim. To go where he could not. The Arcane university of Cyrodill. Avoid straying off path. Advised her not to interact with Thalmor, Stormcloak and Imperial soldiers – she doubted she’d know the difference – and rely only on herself.

He seemed to believe her capable of the journey.

Or maybe he was kindly sending her to death, a small mercy for being in a world not her own.

Aurora never put much thought into university. She wasn’t an academic like Maude or Josh or mum. She was much like her dad, didn’t care for studying, struggled to feel passion for it. She wanted to just … be. Perhaps own her own café one day.

But magic, maybe magic would be different.

Aurora sat in the uncomfortable bed, attempting the spells Naaril had evoked in his hands. Again, nothing come of it. Not ‘Pacify’ or fire, neither ice or that horrible red from vampires.

She felt a bit like a jedi from one of those Star Wars movies. The force … Maude was obsessed with it. Aurora closed her eyes, meditated, tried to imagine ‘magicka’. The darkness of Oblivion and the light of Aetherius. The bodies of deities. Why? Why did she have this ability here and not home?

Every time she felt close to something promising - vibrant colors and a scampering heartbeat - she saw black wings and a devoured Sun. It was terrifying in the beginning, now it was only irritating.

“Fucking hopeless.”

Aurora gathered the letter and coin and left the room for the heart of the tavern. People were eating dinner, drinking alcohol – awfully strong – and listening to the bard. It was colder, Aurora imagined it must have been dark outside but couldn’t stand the idea of going back to sleep.

“Excuse me.” The inkeep didn’t look up from cleaning a silver cup. “Naaril, my friend … the high elf I came here with, do you know where he is?”

He looked up, studied her expression, maybe saw more than she hoped. Heard it in her voice. “I didn’t ask, didn’t see. He was asking about Hrothgar, perhaps that’s his destination. He left a few hours ago.”

Aurora thanked him, left him to continue his work.

High Hrothgar, a mystical place resting above the clouds and on the daunting lump of rock Naaril called the Throat of the World. That’s where he was, or maybe still on his way there.

Aurora considered her options.

Stay in this tavern, hitch a job and live here until she died or woke up, hopefully home. Or follow Naaril’s advice, travel south, wherever that was – she’d have to ask – and hope she made it to the university intact.

Aurora exited the inn. Fur coat snuggled over shoulders; bag tied to her tunic’s belt. The sky was clear, dark but clear and the moons were bright. The mountain loomed over the town like a mighty beast. It was beautiful.

Was Naaril there? Had he reached whatever he was searching for?

Seven Thousand Steps…

Aurora followed the main path of the town until she reached a bridge. And over that bridge lay waiting a set of stone steps. Had to be them. A pilgrimage maybe?

She looked down at her hand, focused, she cast Clairvoyance without much strain and wonder of wonders, it led to the steps.

‘Before the birth of Men, the Dragons ruled all Mundus.’

Aurora lost footing at times on the slippery stone and steep dirt, but kept going. She could have picked a better time, waited till morning. She could have. She didn’t want to. A jittery feeling in her bones wouldn’t let her rest.

She felt a bit like a stalker, especially when she saw evidence of Naaril. Burned bodies of wolves. She considered then the whole ‘Pacify’ thing with the bear was for her sake and not because he was a pacifist.

‘Men were weak then, and had no voice.’

The steps became more dangerous as she ascended. Slick with ice and uneven, she fell to her hands a lot, hissed in pain. In the shade of shadowy cliffs and night, she could barely see what she was walking on.

More wolves. She smelled their burned flesh before she saw their carcasses.

“At least he let the goats live.”

They were brave goast, kept running up to her, almost tripping her over. Snow fell loosely from their coats. She wished she had fur for skin and not just a blanket. It was getting cold, really fucking cold, and she didn’t have Naaril to make fire.

‘Unafraid to war with Dragons … But the Dragons only shouted them down and broke their hearts.’

Aurora stopped at every tablet built by mountains path, was aided by the moonlight in reading the etchings. She didn’t understand what it meant, shouts and war with dragons. Naaril hadn’t told her about that.

‘Kyne called on Paarthurnax… Together they taught Men to use the Voice.’

The wind threw sharp ice and snow in her face, frosted her lashes and hair. She tried and failed at casting a spell.

‘Men prevailed, shouting Alduin out of the World.’

Alduin. Aurora had no idea who any of these people were, what Naaril wanted with them. What the Voice or Shouting was?

‘…the Sky-Children conquer… whilst the Dragons withdrew from this world.’

She was shivering. The air was harder to breathe. Aurora had to stop, huddled by one of the many markers.

She closed her eyes, meditated.

Black wings.

Aurora fought down the images, felt that beautiful feverish heat rushing through her. It slipped from her hands and surrounded her. A wonderful and warm light.

A spell.

Whispers of flesh and stone hummed beneath her skin. She got up and kept walking, a smile on her lips that no longer felt numb.

‘Jurgen Windcaller began His Seven Year Meditation.’

Intuition told her it would be dawn soon. It’d been at least a couple of hours of walking steep steps and taking brief rests undercover wherever she could. The spell she managed to cast, Stoneflesh, it kept her warm.

‘Jurgen the Calm built His home on the Throat of the World.’

She soon saw the home he built, early morning sunlight swelled against its stone structure. She wasn’t at the peak of the mountain, but it had to be the High Hrothgar, the monastery.

‘… the Greybeards spoke one name … blessed and named him Dovahkiin.’

She took the last of the steps, swirling towards two great doors.

Aurora cast Clairvoyance, and without surprise, it pursued something further into the monastery, past the large door she stood at.

She imagined his face, how it’d look when he saw that she’d followed him. Naaril would be angry, disturbed even.

But she needed answers. She needed him.

The palm of her hands touched the cold of the doors, feeling the engraving within it. A face of an animal… or creature. “Dragon,” Aurora confirmed out loud, pushing the whole of her body into opening the doors.

The interior of High Hrothgar was vast, fantastical and medieval. All stone and hard, nothing soft about it. And it was empty. Warm, and a good shelter from the horrible weather outside, but utterly empty of people from where she stood.

Sculptures were built into its walls, urns sat by pillars, ceilings were tall and far from the ground. Engravings of dragon heads and faces.

A religion for dragons?

Aurora walked around for few minutes, too afraid to go deeper in, and instead held her hands over a lit fire. Stoneflesh finally wore off. The glittering light adhered to body, melted away.

“Who are you?”

The voice wasn’t alarmed, it was curious and old and patient.

She turned to the old man in grey robes, intricate with patterns like that of the walls. “I’m Aurora. Who’re you?” She might have felt afraid when three other men entered from opposite corridors, if her magic wasn’t hurrying through her veins like adrenaline. They said nothing, just watched as she made her way to the first.

“I am Master Arngeir. I speak for the Greybeards.”

She knew that name, twice now she’d heard it. Back in Ivarstead and then on that tablet outside. They all did have grey beards… Aurora smiled, small enough they didn’t see it.

“My friend.” She probably shouldn’t have kept calling Naaril a friend, she had a feeling he wouldn’t like it, nor was it a fitting word for whatever was going on. “He's supposed to be here. His name’s Naaril. Elf. Blonde.”

“You seek the Dragonborn?” Arngeir took studious attention to Aurora, it should have been discomforting but she sensed nothing malicious about him, only that he was curious.

“I- yes. Is he here?” She didn’t think to ask what a Dragonborn was, or why Naaril would be called that. Whether it was literal or not.

“The Dragonborn is indeed here. He answered our summons and is now resting. If you wish to speak with him, you should wait until he awakens.” Aurora nodded. She could wait. But… Arngeir shared a glance with the other Greybeards.

“If you are truly as you say, a friend, we permit you repose within High Hrothgar. From then on, it is for the Dragonborn to decide.”

What if Naaril didn’t want her here? Did that mean they’d just kick her out? After all the steps she took to get here?

“Thank you, Master Arngeir.”

She’d have to wait and find out.

Out of a strange respect for the Greybeards and their sanctuary, she didn’t wander around. And out of respect for Naaril, she didn’t go searching for him. The first clear memory she had of him was him struggling not to fall asleep. He was sitting upright, but his eyes were fluttering open and shut, his neck reclining.

He looked so tired. And he didn’t stop looking tired as they traveled to Ivarstead.

Aurora also avoided invading the Greybeards space. They took to kneeling in different areas throughout the monastery, praying? Meditating? She took repose in a room near the entrance and sat on the ground – her fur coat laid out for her – near a fire, with a few books she took from the shelves.

She couldn’t tell what was fiction or non-fiction, having no grasp of this worlds history, other than the few things Naaril told her. She read through them all however, hoping she could learn something. Maybe even impress Naaril if she had the chance.

The Oblivion Crisis. Non-fiction, it had to be. Maybe a scholar’s examination of a historical moment. Assassinated Emperor. The fall of an empire. Fourth age, third era, year 433, it could have been a year ago for all Aurora knew of time here. Mythic Dawn, cult? She got confused quickly and closed it.

Spirit of Nirn. Lorkhan. She understood most of it due to Naaril. ‘Most elves hate him’. She hadn’t sensed hate from Naaril when he spoke of the moons, or the creation of Nirn. ‘Sundered them from their spirit realm’, ‘Mortal Plane’. She’d have to ask him about it, though he probably wouldn’t answer honestly, logic over emotion seemed to be his thing.

Aedra and Daedra. Another topic she recognized. Aedra was elvish for ‘ancestor’. Deadra was elvish for ‘not our ancestors’. It was starting to make more sense. When Naaril said his people thought they were descendants of Auri-El, he meant that literally. Creation and change. It all read similar to demons and angels. Were elves once immortal? Is that why they hated Lorkhan? But the way Naaril spoke, he didn’t seem to believe it.

The other book she picked without much thought was called The Alduin/Akatosh Dichotomy. The author read like an asshole, Aurora thought of Maude, who hated arrogant intelligence.

Akatosh, the first and greatest of the Divines. Naaril never mentioned him. “Auri-El…”, Aurora said to herself. Akatosh and Auri-El were one and the same. A great dragon. Nords called him Alduin. The same name from the tablets. Shouted out of the world. “So many names with a,” Aurora complained aloud, unaware that the man she’d walked possibly seven thousand steps for, was watching her from an archway.

Alduin. A separate being from Akatosh or Auri-El. Alduin. Ancient and powerful. The name every time she read it sent shivers through her skin. When she finally realized why, that the Nords dubbed him ‘World Eater’ and her dreams of black wings and maw returned, a familiar voice jolted her from the trance. Alduin.

“You didn’t seem the studious type.”

Aurora dropped the book, her tired eyes catching him in the shadows, retreating into the light of flames.

“But I also didn’t think you’d come after me. Yet here we are.”

“I’m sorry. I know you wanted to get rid of me.”

Naaril came towards her, and she noticed that he looked more alive, clean, powerful. His armour was different, and the cloth entwined with leather and chain was brighter, red and beautiful. His hair was down, no longer braided.

“Why’re you here?” He walked right past her, and she had to crane her neck to see his face. It wasn’t angry or disturbed like she feared it would be.

“The Greybeards … they keep calling you Dragonborn. Is that why you’re here?”

Naaril sighed, crossed his arms. She waited for him to answer. And it took a long time considering the question. He could have just said yes –

“You are a painful woman," he suddenly grumbled out. Aurora frowned. That was certainly unexpected. He peered down at her, and he did look something close to angry. Her intuition was always correct. “We had a deal. Only till Ivarstead. But that wasn’t enough. You’ve followed me up the highest mountain in all of Tamriel, and still, you find a way of not answering my questions.”

He was asking ‘what do you want from me’ without asking at all. She knew that much, but she knew even less what her answer would be.

Aurora stuttered and stumbled over her words.

“You need to figure yourself out somewhere else, Aurora. Cyrodill, you should go to the university, maybe they can help you.”

He was walking away, and although she knew that he wouldn’t go far, she felt as if she had to catch him before she never saw him again. She couldn’t rationalize the attachment to him, couldn’t make it easy for either of them.

She had to think fast.

“I’m here to give this back.” She held the bag of coin in her palm, holding it out to him. He turned to face her. He was confused, looked into her eyes.

“You need those Septims more than me.” So that’s what the currency was called… Aurora shook her head, moving towards him, hand still held out.

“I can’t take it. I won’t.”

She realized then how much she truly annoyed him. He often looked at her on their journey to Ivarstead as he looked at her now. Confused and irritated. Like he had so many better things to do. Or maybe had enough troubles without looking after an alien.

The only time he ever seemed okay with her was when she asked him about Tamriel. His passion. She almost had the nerve to say ‘selfish, arrogant.’ But she recognized Maude in that behaviour. Intelligent, curious, empathetic and desiring to learn and talk and teach.

He didn't have arrogance, he had an exceptional mind.

“You can’t survive without it. Where’ll you find shelter? You need food, a horse.”

“I don’t want it because I don’t need it,” Aurora pleaded. It could have been manipulation, but she was being honest. “And I don’t need it because I won’t be alive long enough to use it.”

She had made it far in this world considering. But she knew she was being naïve to think she could make it any further. She wasn’t meant for Tamriel. Not with the little knowledge she had of it.

Naaril let go of the anger, and for a glimpse of time she thought he might’ve felt sad for her.

“I don’t know why I’m here, but that blue light keeps leading me to you. That has to mean something.” He didn’t speak, only listened, never breaking their stare. “And I can tell you’re just as confused as me. Maybe we can help each other understand.”

Something clicked in his eyes. As if she said a magic word. Help each other. It was her offer to help him, because what could she possibly offer him. But there had to be something, because he nodded.

“Perhaps the Divines brought you here for a reason.”

Aurora didn’t know what brought her here, but in that moment she felt so much hope she thought she might explode.

Purpose.

Chapter Text

Aurora left the hot bathtub feeling like a brand-new person. She’d never felt that after a shower. She’d never been dirty enough. It was Naaril who offered it, whether out of pity or disgust, she didn’t care.

There was no soaps or pretty scents, just a cloth to rub away the dead skin and wilderness. And she had none of her hair conditioner or serums. No brush, no dryer and diffuser, no gel. Aurora swore, loudly, loud enough someone must have heard it. But she calmed herself, went under, wet her hair anyway.

Maude would be much worse off than Aurora here, and in a horrible way it was comforting. That it could be worse. Though, regardless of the severity, not being able to properly wash her hair twice a week would be a problem.

Everything was going to be a problem in one way or another.

Naaril watched her carefully as she returned, eyeing her long-wet hair against the still dirty blue tunic he’d bought her.

“Do you want a brush?”

She nodded, unsure what to say. Surprised he would even ask or know that’s what she wanted. “Is it yours?” She didn’t want to sound ungrateful, but it came out that way. Naaril didn’t answer as he searched through his bag.

“No, I found it in a burial mound.” Aurora grimaced, retracted her hand from the wooden paddle brush he held out to her. Naaril didn’t laugh or smile, “Yes, it’s mine. I don’t like having knotted hair. And I don’t have fleas.”

“Thank you Naaril.” She sounded grateful then, genuine. She made sure of it. And he knew, looked away awkwardly, and back to the book on his lap.

It was no Denman brush, but it’d do.

There was none of her products to put in her wet hair either, but … it’d do. She didn’t mind if it ended up frizzier than usual.

It was silent between them. Both doing their own task. Nestled in the room Aurora found when she got here. It was endearing, after he knew she was here, he brought all his possessions to the same room, opposite of her. She didn’t mention it, afraid he’d change his mind out of some warped pride. At least, that's what she'd be like in his place.

Aurora cleaned the brush of his hair, only a few blonde strands were tangled within the bristles – she didn’t know what the bristles were made out of, Josh would know if he was here – and it strangely didn’t bother her. His hair was pretty, soft, golden.

She felt him watching, could see him in her peripheral vision. The book was forgotten, and he stared. It didn’t feel unsettling, it felt like curiosity. She combed her hair a particular way, the way Maude taught her. A heat did race against her skin because of his stare, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

She liked it. Found it soothing.

“The first time I saw you, I thought you were a Redguard. Your skin... the curls of your hair.” Aurora kept brushing it, her hair, but met his eyes while doing so, listening intently. “Or Breton… certain features of yours remind me of nobles in High Rock... not to mention your magical ... proclivities. But looking at you now, I don’t recognize either race.”

Naaril’s eyes studied every bit of her, and she was sure he’d done it before, knowing where to look for the unique features he couldn’t pin-point.

A bit like home, she knew that stare.

“I’m biracial.” Naaril mouthed an ‘oh’, a passing understanding in his expression. “My dad is…” Aurora had to figure out a way to explain it in a way he’d comprehend. He was intelligent but their worlds were so different, culturally and geographically. Josh would definitely know how to explain it. “My dad’s British. It’s an island nation made up of three countries. Born in Scotland, he’s Cornish though.”

Aurora felt stupid, struggling to articulate it all. Unsure if he was following along, but he was, and he was interested in what she was saying.

“The Cornish are native to Cornwall, my homeland. My parents moved there when my big sister, Maude, was two or something,” she said, thinking back on Josh and his research on the Cornish, always a nerd for human history, and anthropology. “We have Bretons in our world too.”

This really got his attention. “The Cornish and Breton people had connections apparently. Both are Celtic. So maybe that’s why you thought I was.”

“What about your mother?”

Aurora smiled. “Also born in Britain. I look more like her than I do my dad. She and her parents are African… they were from another country in another continent. They're of the Nguni people. Natives to South Africa. Probably why you thought I was a Redguard… What about you?”

Naaril laughed, though again, it never reached his eyes. Void of joy or humour. “Both my parents are Altmeri. My homeland is very particular in who can produce offspring.”

Aurora frowned, “you mean like eugenics?”

“The Aldmeri Dominion is governed by Altmer supremacists,” he reminded her. “A good reason to stay away from the Summerset Isles, I’d rather forget all the brainwashing and propaganda.”

The conversation ended. It put him in a less than perfect mood, and she didn’t blame him. Aurora wondered what his childhood must have been like, if his parents believed in the Dominion.

But there was more to it. Aurora knew that much.

They spent a week in High Hrothgar. Sleep, eat, read and practice. Aurora with her magic, and Naaril with his shouts.

It terrified her.

The first time she saw him shout, her limbs lost strength, head ached, and she fell to her knees. He’d gone to help her, but Arngeir had been direct in not doing so. Said Naaril had to focus, to not let emotion master over his Voice. Aurora stood up herself, eyes wide and body rampaging in that feverish heat again.

It wasn’t her magic, but she felt it regardless.

Fus Ro.

The language was horribly alike what she heard in her dreams, the ones of black wings and a devoured universe. “Fus Ro,” she whispered. Nothing come of it.

One morning they both sat in the courtyard, in shelter, but outside enough to see the discordant winds and snow, the beautiful peak of a mountain, a vast sky and ancient architecture of the monastery. Naaril kept looking to a gateway higher above them, blocked with a snowstorm.

“What do you think is up there?” Naaril asked Aurora. Fear in his voice, so unlike him and the power of his mere words moments ago. He only had to speak a language, whisper it, and a force erupted, shaking the ground and knocking everyone to their feet.

“I think you’ll know when you know,” Aurora answered. He was content with the response.

It felt like a time better than any other to actually talk to him, ask him what all of this meant to him. Aurora now knew what a Dragonborn was, what the Voice was. Arngeir told her when she asked, didn’t hide anything.

The body of a mortal, and the soul of a Dragon. Immortality in his blood, a curse and blessing. Sent by the Gods in Tamriel’s time of need. A prophet or hero. Maude loved those stories, and now Aurora was living within one.

But what did it mean for Naaril? Everything she’d learned, the dragons and the voice, all of it was Nord or Imperial mythology. Talos or Ysmir, Kyne, Akatosh. Did he himself believe in any of it?

“What would the Aldmeri Dominion think of you being Dragonborn?”

Naaril smiled. “They’d either hunt me down, proclaim me a false God as Talos was. Or they’d use it as proof of Mer supremacy. An Altmer, chosen by the Gods, by Auri-El himself, born with the soul of an immortal.”

“What do you believe?”

Aurora and Naaril sat close, huddled on stone, shoulders touching. It was the most intimate she’d ever felt by his side. He looked at her, snow crystals stuck in his eyebrows and eyelashes. “I’m Dragonborn and I don’t know why. Don’t know what I’m supposed to do with it. If it’s good that I am or not.”

Aurora hated to imagine the pressure he felt. Being an actual demi-god, even worse, in the midst of a country you didn’t know, surrounded by people you didn’t know, no clue if they wanted to kill you or be your ally. And followed by an alien that also didn’t know anything at all.

“I think it’s good.”

Naaril laughed, and it lit up his whole face. She was confused. She was being genuine, and her voice or expression didn’t suggest otherwise.

When he first shouted, she’d turned a blubbering mess, asking questions upon questions. Asked what dragons were actually like, how he found out he was Dragonborn, how many dragons he’d absorbed the souls of. Naaril admitted he’d killed and absorbed three dragons before they met, before he set his sights on Winterhold College. Confessed that it felt wrong. That a guilt swallowed him whole everytime.

It was a good thing. He was powerful and without corrupt or cruel bone in his body.

It was good. Aurora would stand by it.

“As do the Greybeards. We should leave soon. If I’m to understand, I need to complete this last trial. Retrieve that horn.”

And Aurora would follow him anywhere. Even if she didn’t want to.

They left the Throat of the World the next morning, their destination a burial mound, Ustengrav. And for once, Aurora felt decently equipped to deal with the Skyrim Wilderness. She learned a few spells, both from Naaril, and the words and sensations that took over her body when she meditated. The coolest spell by far was Telekinesis. She really felt like a jedi knight then.

Maude would be jealous.

Naaril certainly was. He couldn’t cast it as she did, or really at all. He tried to hide it, both the envy and being impressed. But she recognized it every time she moved objects with just a thought, and orange light from her hand. She started off small. Septims, books, his hair when he wasn’t looking but he ended that as soon it began. Snatching her wrist, playfully, smirking wryly at her.

She learned a few restoration spells, for healing and warmth. But Stoneflesh was one she used most, it was a miracle for the journey to Ustengrav.

Back the way they came, up north and into the snow. Naaril had looked at his map – adorned with ripped edges and blood stains - and decided the path rather quickly.

They didn’t need to stop as much, with Aurora being competent enough this time round and Naaril having already traveled this part of Skryim.

The last familiar place for Aurora was Cradlecrush Rock, the giant camp. From then on, they diverged west. To Hjaalmarch. Apparently he’d spent a good week and a bit exploring the hold before the College.

Her body was gaining strength and endurance from all the walking, but still she wasn’t as strong as Naaril. Always a few steps behind him, breathing heavier. The cold turned out to be a blessing, if Skyrim was anything other than cold and wet in most places, she would have died from the exertion alone.

They followed a river till another giant camp. It was late evening and they set up their own little camp by the giants once again.

“You really like them, don’t you?”

Naaril smiled. “We’re much safer here than anywhere else.”

“It makes sense. I wouldn’t want to annoy them for my dinner either, not even to get to the mighty Dragonborn.”

He laughed, a proper one too.

Naaril was starting to warm to her. Or at least, he wasn’t regretting his decision. Aurora knew it wasn’t her he didn’t like, just the idea of someone following him.

She gathered he was always introverted, not unlike her. Aurora had friends, a small group of them, but she much preferred to do her own thing. She never went out really, didn’t date. She was content in work and coming home to … not much.

A therapist back home might say this was good for her.

“I never asked you Naaril.” He glanced at her, ready for anything as always. What she was about to ask might sour the mood, but she wanted to know. She wanted to learn more about Naaril. Not his race or powers, but him. “How old are you?”

He had to think for a minute and it worried Aurora. Were elves here like Lord of the Rings? He didn’t look older than early thirties. But she couldn’t assume anything in Tamriel.

“Around seventy? I don’t keep track of those sorts of things.” Aurora made sure her face didn’t betray anything. It wasn’t as old as she thought he might be. But he was three times her age. And it changed the way she saw him, changed her unwanted growing attraction to him.

Naaril was handsome. She reasoned it was just a phase. He was the only friend she had here. She’d get over it.

Naaril watched her carefully. “It’s usually easy to grasp how old a human is,” he confessed, golden eyes shimmering and reaching for her across the campfire. “But I don’t wish to offend you.”

Aurora scoffed. “Just tell me. If I look ancient… I have had a rough week.”

“From your behavior alone, I’d say you only reached adulthood a few years ago.” That was one way of calling someone immature. A little offensive, but she didn’t betray it. Kept a straight face.

“You have to give an exact number.” Naaril brushed a hand over his tired face, chuckling.

“Twenty-six.”

“Close. Twenty-three. I’m a Taurus.” Aurora immediately cringed at herself, the Taurus thing came out so randomly - she almost went to ask what his star sign was - and he looked confused. “Don’t even ask.”

“What month is it? How many months do you have?”

“We’re on the last days of Evening Star. The last of twelve months, why?”

“No reason.”

In between Aurora interrogating him on their hike, they’d stop to take in the sights. Naaril would voluntarily talk about what they saw.

Another Shrine of Talos, placed by a circle of megalithic stones. Dwemer ruins in the mountains. A pair of prehistoric cats, Snowy Sabre Cats, Naaril called them, prowling the area for food. They didn’t seem to be interested in either Naaril or Aurora, a blessing she wasn’t sure would last.

Intuition proved correct. Smoke surging through the sky.

“The Hall of the Vigilant. What’s left of it.”

It was a burned down shack, riddled with corpses. They didn’t get any closer than twenty or so meters. “Vampires?” Aurora asked, though she didn’t need him to confirm it.

In the week they’d been in High Hrothgar, he’d given her brief lessons on what she’d seen so far.

Back at the bridge, the vampires killed Vigilants of Stendarr. Followers of the God of righteous might. Justice. They stole their robes in order to lure travelers.

“We shouldn’t interfere.”

Aurora was glad to lose sight of the massacre. Afraid something might be watching, waiting.

They passed monuments in the distance, forts and crypts. Naaril knew what was inside all of it. She struggled to work out how he had the time to seek out everything he did. How he remembered it all. He was like an adventurer from a fairytale.

One that had the spirit of dragons, their bodies slain and souls eaten by him. Naaril from Alinor, dragonslayer and absolute nerd.

“Skyborn Altar.” He pointed to another mountain peak, where a Dragon burial mound rested. He reassured her there was no longer a dragon there. “It killed my horse, nearly killed me. Lost my sword to it.”

"Quite unlucky for you." He hummed in agreement.

They didn’t deviate from their path to see it, but she believed him. Believed the grief that he didn’t seem to know was there himself, but she could see it. Could feel it as if it was her own.

What Aurora had least expected on the journey was to become silenced with awe, enraptured with beauty. The night sky painted in lights, polar lights. It was enough to make Aurora’s throat tighten.

Some things weren’t so different after all.

“Beautiful. My world has something like this, but I’d never seen it for myself,” Aurora said, aware he wouldn’t stop staring. He should’ve been staring at the sky, but he watched her.

She glanced back and forth between him and purple waves cloaking Oblivion and Aetherius. “They’re called Aurora,” he said, as if waiting for her to confirm she was indeed named after the spectacle above. The amazement in the fact that two separate worlds had the same beautiful phenomenon, with the same name. Her name.

She used to think she was too. But it wasn’t the Northern lights that gave Aurora her name. No, it was something a bit more human.

They started walking again, guided by the phenomena of her namesake.

“I’m named after a character from a fairy tale.” That piqued his interest. “A princess cursed to sleep for a hundred years.” She laughed at his obvious disturbance. “I know, doesn’t sound good. But there’s variations of the story, the one my name’s from isn’t as dark as it sounds. Princess Aurora is saved by true love in the end. By a prince. And they live happily ever after,” she inspirited.

“Still an odd story.”

“Yeah, but it was my mum’s favourite when she was little.”

Aurora wanted to explain the movie, the animation, the franchise of Disney, but she knew it would never end. He’d be asking questions upon questions. He’d want to know more about her world, and she didn’t have the strength to think, let alone speak about it.

Sleeping Beauty. Maybe that’s what happened to her, cursed into an enteral slumber. And her dreams brought her to this harsh world. Naaril’s world.

They didn’t stop to rest that night, Aurora insisted it. She didn’t want to slow Naaril down, so they kept marching on into the cold night. She cast her Stoneflesh to keep the snow at bay, snacked on cheese and fruit as they walked. Walked through emptiness, through white space and silhouettes of great mountains.

There was a fire not far, a Stormcloak camp. “Sons and daughters of Skyrim,” he said. No sarcasm lay in his tone, in fact, there was a strong respect. “Best we stay away from them.”

Naaril must have heard them. One of the soldiers. They were singing into the night. A beautiful voice. It traveled with the winds. He didn’t stop however, only kept pushing forward.

You’ll know, you’ll know, the Dragonborn’s come.

Chapter Text

Naaril had to stop Aurora. Abruptly pulled her into him, both falling to the grass. “What the hell… Oh.”

Surrounding the Nordic burial mound were bandits, and amongst the bandits was someone who looked exceptionally like the odd one out. Black robes, a ghastly air shadowing them. A glowing skull on their chest. “Necromancer. Exactly what we need in a tomb filled with the dead.” Naaril sounded more annoyed than anything.

“Maybe we should kill him,” Aurora said. It shocked her, how easy it felt to say. To kill another person. She reasoned it was because it was less likely her who would do it, but Naaril, and he had no qualms with killing anyone else.

Naaril gave her a look though. A look that said ‘no shit’.

“One of them up here means a dozen more inside. And that means a fight we probably won’t win.” Aurora panicked, stared at him in disbelief.

“Use your shouts, your fire magic. You’re the freaking Dragonborn.” She was whisper shouting, hands digging into the dirt beneath them, wondering if this was where she dies, taking the elf down with her.

“If we hope to get through this, I need your help,” he said, desperately grabbing her wrists, showing her, her own hands. “I’ve a plan. It involves you taking the defensive. I’ll handle the bandits, all you need to do is make sure that necromancer doesn’t kill us.”

Naaril went to get up then, straight into action, but it was Aurora’s turn to pull him down. “I don’t even know what that means!”

It would be a miracle if they weren’t spotted, arguing in the background. The bandits and dark magic user didn’t show any suspicions, but it was only a matter of time.

“Stoneflesh. Cast it on me and yourself. Quick.” She did. He glimmered under the polar lights and moons. Blues and greens and purples. The bandits looked in their direction. Suspicion. Naaril spoke faster. “The mage, there’s no dead up here, they’ll try and hit me with destruction magic. Distract him, make sure he doesn’t.”

And it began.

Aurora running after him, just like the bridge and vampires. This time she had a feeling she wouldn't pass out and make it all go away. They diverged paths when Naaril reached the thick of it, right into the hulking bandits with axes and swords and shields. Aurora headed towards the mage, and she knew then there was no need for distracting, because he was already interested in her and her alone.

“I’ll try and make this quick.” His voice was like hissing, writhing snakes. She didn’t react fast enough when a bolt of lightning, crackling and painful, hit her. Stoneflesh exploded with light, knocking her to the ground.

She looked over at Naaril briefly, amazed she was still alive, and amazed at how fluently he killed a bandit. One got him with their axe but flew backwards from her spell… Naaril burnt the flesh from their face. Another he stole the sword from, and shoved it into their guts.

She crawled to her feet, felt another incoming bolt. Flashes of spells - both new and the ones she learned at the monastery - stirred through her mind and body. She spun just in time, catching the bolt with Steadfast Ward. It pushed her back, sent aches throughout her arms, but she held on.

Every spell the mage threw at her, it thrusted her backwards, her heels digging into the dirt below. But she held onto the spell, even as the mage moved in on her.

The fear of God was put into her in the moment he pulled a dagger from his waist.

Shit.

Aurora dropped the ward, stumbled away from the mage. Naaril was still fighting some meters away, unaware of her closeness to death. “I’ll send your soul to Aetherius and command your corpse, Breton.” She spotted an arrow on the ground, its tip glinting under moonlight.

She faced the mage, willing the orange light into her hands, the feverish heat reaching out beyond her own body. He grabbed her neck, and before he could shove the iron in her stomach, a whistle of air took his attention, and hot, sticky blood splattered across Aurora’s face, in her mouth.

He dropped her immediately, an arrow stuck in his neck.

Her first intentional kill.

Aurora didn’t speak.

When Naaril wasn’t looking, she furiously wiped at her face, spat and gagged until it felt like she hadn’t just killed someone and wore their blood.

She didn’t speak. Not when he observed the necromancer, or the leftover of his blood on Aurora’s tunic.

She didn’t speak as he looted the bodies of Septims and potions, as he sheathed the sword he took from one of them. Didn’t speak as they descended the stairs and entered Ustengrav. Didn’t speak, only listened, to the fighting coming from deeper within. Bandits and mages, and something else…

She couldn't speak.

“Draugr. Undead warriors. Our spells together should deal with them quickly.” They creeped closer to the fighting, and Aurora wanted to yell at Naaril for his insane thought. That she’d help deal with them.

But she’d brought it on herself. Offered to follow him, to help him. She had to get over it. This new responsibility of defending herself and someone else. The scariest epiphany, it felt right. When she used telekinesis to kill that mage, it felt like it couldn’t go any other way. The magic was hers, and she saved herself from death with it.

Repel Undead. They indeed fled, Naaril disintegrated them as they did, with both steel and magic.

The crypt smelled of dust and riches. Nords buried with jewels and weapons and Septims. “Who were they?” Aurora finally spoke. The dimness of the underground tomb, the bodies - both fresh and old - and blood, she became neutral to it eventually.

“Many believe Draugr were once servants of Dragon Priests. These might’ve been devoted followers of Jurgen Windcaller. Let’s hope the horn is still here.”

They fought their way through easily. Aurora was getting the hang of magicka, balancing what she had within her, knowing when to cast her spells and when to run. She felt an energy between her and Naaril, fighting side by side. As if their minds were joint in moments of battle. Neither had to speak, they just knew.

Naaril, the offense, and Aurora, the defender. She made sure they didn’t die, he got rid of the threat.

Skeletons and Draugr, tall and frightening. They died one after the other. Naaril looting their corpses. Now that she wasn’t drowned with adrenaline, she pointed it out. “You always do this?” Aurora found it a little disturbing, disrespectful maybe.

“How else would I survive?”

But there it was.

This world didn’t follow the rules of her own.

And how else would he afford everything he bought for her, the rooms, the clothes and food. She felt guilty for looking down upon him. She was living off the very same coins.

Naaril and Aurora were getting closer to the end, she felt it. They reached a vast cavern, not long after she nearly died from stepping into fire traps, saved by a hair with Naaril snatching the collar of her tunic. She really wanted this to end, to be above ground.

“Look,” Naaril said, eyes glazed over with something she couldn’t identify. It was his to understand. She followed where he looked, down below, in the wet floor of the cave, where bats screeched and fluttered their wings.

A structure. A wall. She trailed behind him, glad that she didn’t have a fear of heights. It was a long way down.

He knew what it was. Knew exactly what to do. Saw things she couldn’t.

Aurora observed his slowed steps, his tremoring hands. He closed his golden eyes, extended the palm of his hand outwards to the stone. Carvings of a language she couldn’t read, and the head of a creature atop of it.

Dragon.

“Zii,” Naaril whispered.

Zii. Zu'u fent nahkip nau hin joor zii. Zii.

Aurora inhaled sharply, felt faint.

Black wings. Sharp teeth in a black maw. The Sun, eaten whole. Magicka leaving her veins, leaving her empty of freedom.

Zii. Hin zii ahrk slen los dii. Zii.

“Spirit. The second word of Become Ethereal.”

Spirit. Aurora’s spirit drained and devoured. No, not devoured.

Stolen, possessed by something that did devour, but not with her.

“Aurora?”

She snapped out if it, the visions and sleep-state. His hand on her shoulder, fingers gently grasping at the flesh beneath her tunic. “I’m okay. I think my magicka is low.”

“No! This can’t be! Damn it!”

Aurora had never seen Naaril angry. Not like this. They’d reached the room where the horn should have been, he’d completed his trial. Killed the spiders. Used a shout to pass the puzzle. But the horn…

It was gone. And in its place, a letter. He wanted to tear it to shreds, she could see it in his eyes, the white of his knuckles. “What does it say?”

“To meet them in Riverwood. Divines! Why can’t anything ever be easy!” Aurora was hesitant to invade his space but couldn’t help herself from placing a hand on his shoulder. She glanced over the letter. Whoever wrote it knew he was coming. Knew he was Dragonborn. A friend…

“Naaril. It’s okay. We’ll go to Riverwood, figure out what they want, take the horn.” It wasn’t okay, and she feared she might have pushed her boundaries. But he leaned into her touch, breathed deeply. He was tired, so was she.

They’d fought for an hour. They smelled of blood and death, dust and ancient life. “You’re right.” Naaril peered up at her, his face caked in dirt and ashes and red. He wanted to say something more, eyes flickering all over her, to the hand on his back. She withdrew it, moved away from him, gave him space. Disappointment rested where she once was, but it remained unspoken. “Let us leave this horrid place.”

The saltwater marsh was worse than she imagined, worse than what Naaril told her. It stunk. Bugs constantly buzzed on her skin, drinking her sweat, she became itchy. The water stung the scratches and small wounds around her legs. It was difficult to see through the cold fog. But Naaril was adamant they go this way, that they go to Morthal.

“We won’t stay long. We need a horse."

"Can you afford one?"

"I’ve done much for the Jarl and her city. I'm certain she'll lend us one.”

Aurora had no experience with horses, she trusted they’d figure something out though. Or she was too tired to worry of the future.

The early sun did no favours for Morthal. It was a depressing little town, nothing like a city. Boardwalks on cold water, wet and slippery with snow. Some looked like they were about to fall into the water.

“Naaril!” A young boy ran up to the elf, a wide grin on his face. Aurora stood to the side, didn’t say anything.

“Joric, it’s good to see you. I’m here to speak with your mother.” Naaril brushed his hand over the boy’s hair, like an older brother or father. It was odd. Him being nurturing, but it wasn’t insincere. Naaril feigned not being tired or ready to yell at the world, instead, he talked to Joric. Matched his excitement about adventures that hadn’t been as epic as he made them out to be.

He cared.

Aurora surmised the boy was the son of the Jarl.

A woman called after him, running through mud and snow, holding her skirts. Braided and long dark hair, pale and beautiful in the dawn’s light. Her mood lifted at the sight of Naaril.

“Idgrod,” Naaril greeted her. “We’ll not be here long sadly, we’re in need of a horse.” Idgrod eyes twinkled at Aurora, a soft smile on her just as soft features.

“Mother will be sure to help. She’ll be pleased to see you again … a shame your visit is short. I hope everything is alright.”

"It's nothing, we're in a hurry, is all."

Aurora watched as Joric suddenly went still in his expression. She noticed then the dark circles, and gauntness of his features, sickly almost. He left his sister and Naaril, wandering nowhere in particular. Aurora went to say something, but Idgrod seemed to know already, following after him.

It wasn’t her place.

“Once we get a horse, we can head for Whiterun.”

Naaril left for the largest building of the town. Where the Jarl must have ruled from. Left Aurora to her own devices, lightly falling snow entertaining her enough, holding her brown hand out into the stark white, catching flakes.

Idgrod came back, however. Stood by Aurora’s side. A nervousness to her that had gone unseen before. She looked young, younger than Aurora even.

“Your brother seems really smart, my little brother was like that,” Aurora said, breaking the silence. Josh was smart like Maude, in a different way, a grounded sense. Maude was science and data and numbers. Josh was language, behaviour, culture. Their minds never ceased to amaze Aurora. What were they thinking? Where had their sister gone?

“He is. But he isn’t in good health." Aurora gave Idgrod her full attention then. "Did I hear correctly, you and Naaril are heading to Whiterun?”

Aurora nodded.

She sighed with relief, grabbing a bit of paper from her belt. “Could you take this letter to the priestess, Danica Pure-Spring? It’s a note about Joric’s health.”

Aurora took the letter, smoothed her fingers over it. She might not have known who this priestess was, or where in Whiterun she resided, but she was sure Naaril would help her. “Of course. I’ll make sure she gets it. You’re a good sister.”

Idgrod smiled, it was still sad and dim and pale, but there was a newfound hope in her dark eyes. “Thank you.”

It was heavenly. The best thing that’d ever happened to Aurora. She wanted to cry and laugh and hug into Naaril’s back.

Not having to walk through this horrible but beautiful land. Sure, her ass was hurting, and she felt a bit crook from the movements of the horse, but it was better than walking.

“What will you name him?” Aurora asked Naaril. She sat behind him, the top of her head only just reaching the nape of his neck. She tried not to breathe on him, or latch onto his waist, instead grasping at the saddle, she almost failed a few times.

“I’m not sure. I think such a hardy and strong beast deserves an impressive one.” Naaril was already bonding with the brown horse, running his fingers through its fur. Aurora smiled.

“What about a Nordic name? Since he’s a horse of Skyrim.” Naaril liked that idea, hummed in agreement. “Imagine if you named him Greybeard?” Aurora giggled, he scoffed, but looked back at her over his shoulder.

“Well, it’s not a terrible idea. How about Jurgen?” The horse huffed through his nose, almost like he understood, and maybe he did.

“I don’t think he likes it. I think Windcaller suits him better.” The horse neighed.

“I think you’re right. Windcaller it is.”

Windcaller wasn’t a particularly fast horse, but he was strong, and traversed the vast plains and veins of water gracefully, with only the occasional vocal instruction from Naaril. They soon reached their destination.

“I didn’t know Whiterun was an actual city.” She found it hard to trust him after seeing Morthal. But he wasn't lying now. Naaril could hear the excitement in her voice, laughed at her awe.

“It’s not the biggest either.”

Aurora finally gave in, rested her head on his back, consoled with the promise of proper civilization.

Chapter Text

“Do you get to the Cloud District very often? Oh, what am I saying, of course you don’t.” The man didn’t give her a chance to speak, looked her over with something of disapproval and walked away.

“Who the hell was that?”

Naaril rolled his eyes at the noble – he certainly acted like one. “Don’t give him the time of day. His name’s Nazeem, a miserable farm owner. His wife doesn’t even like him.”

Aurora’s eyes followed after Nazeem, until he disappeared into a building called ‘The Drunken Huntsman’. What a lonely life.

Naaril smiled at her. A smile she’d never seen on him. One she didn’t know what, who, exactly it was for. Her pity for Nazeem, or pity for her.

“He brought it on himself. Come on, we can’t stay here long. Wouldn’t want my ‘friend’ to get any ideas.”

Aurora was fast to reach out for Naaril, gently grasped his arm, stopping him from entering a building smelling of metal and fire. Blacksmith. “I need to find a priestess, Danica Pure-Spring.” He licked his lips, and it was then Aurora realized how close they were, that she could see the glint of sweat on his bottom lip. She backed away. “Idgrod needs a letter delivered … It’s about Jorics health.”

Something like fondness passed his eyes. He didn’t speak for the longest few seconds, all she felt and heard was the breath he exhaled. “The Wind district. Take those stairs, follow the path and you’ll come to a large tree. The Temple of Kynareth is where you’ll find Danica. After you’re done, meet me at Arcadia’s Cauldron. It’s down here. Ask if you get lost, someone will help.”

“Thank you Naaril. I’ll be quick.”

The Wind District was refreshing. Magical. Aurora had never seen a place like it, as if dropped into old Celtic ruins in Cornwall, and all of it became alive around her. The tree, its bright pink flowers falling upon rooftops and bench seats, reminded her of Maude’s photos from Japan in spring. Cherry blossoms. Sakura.

To her right was a large ship – a viking ship -upturned and now a roof.

Up higher, most likely the Cloud District, was what had to be the closest thing to a castle she’d seen, where the Jarl must have ruled from. And on its way was a shrine to Talos. Strength and stubbornness everywhere she looked.

Aurora felt odd, unclean for the first time since being in Skyrim. No one was covered in dirt or blood like she was. She tried to wipe it away.

“Ma’am.” A guard greeted her. She used the opportunity to ask which building was the Temple, he pointed in front of her. She hadn’t gotten lost then.

The moment she stepped in, she forgot everything. One breath of the air within, the coldness on her skin, she knew, the Divines were real. It wasn’t like Earth. Where doubt was in every corner, nothing was certain, anything beyond what was seen, could only be a dream, a hallucination. But she felt it. She felt them.

Light. Magicka. The air still, with sickness and fatal wounds and death, but there was hope, healing, life. Aurora watched the priests tend to the wounded and ill, suddenly felt the need to use her own magic.

“Welcome, child of Kynareth.” A woman in golden robes greeted Aurora, and she knew immediately it was Danica. Aurora pulled out the letter, followed the Priestess to the center of the temple.

“Excuse me. I think this is for you. It’s from Idgrod, in Morthal…” Recognition passed the woman’s face.

“Joric’s sister? Poor child. Magic runs deep in that family’s bloodline. It’s not always a blessing.” Aurora waited for Danica to further explain, instead the woman sighed and gestured for Aurora to follow her. A small corner with a desk and bookshelf. Potions and scrolls and herbs scattered about.

And a bag of Septims.

“You don’t have to.”

“Hush child. You’ve done a good deed.” Danica held Aurora’s hand in hers, placed the coin in her palm. Trading small wealth for a letter. “Something for your trouble.”

Aurora observed the wounded, the dying and suffering on her way out.

Magic didn’t seem to be working.

Aurora wished she could do more, had half the heart to stay and see if she could fix it all, but left with the coin instead. Overwhelmed with the way the temple made her feel. The feverish heat of magicka pulsing uncontrollably.

She needed to leave.

“You’re sure we can’t stay at the inn?” Aurora was tired, aching all over. She was afraid of coming across as a bratty child, but she saw it in his body language. He needed rest too. Yet Riverwood was all he could think about.

They’d gotten all they needed. Naaril, his sword sharpened at the blacksmiths, and potions brewed by Arcadia. Aurora managed to get some products for hygiene, and surprisingly, her hair. Arcadia had known exactly what she needed. A few women in Whiterun used the same concoction weekly. Naaril also bought her new clothes. Robes, better fitting than the tunic, and they didn’t stink.

She felt human again. Arcadia offered a room for her to get changed, to wash up, while Naaril sold the ingredients he’d picked up on their journey. The robes were a pale blue, and it wrapped perfectly around her waist… but overemphasized her chest. She had caught Naaril glancing, warmth on his face that hadn't been there before, and found that she didn't mind. Also found that she grew embarrassed in the fact that she didn't mind.

“Even for a few hours. We haven’t slept for two days.”

They were on their way to the stables. Aurora trailing him, at his heels trying to convince him otherwise.

“I can’t risk losing the horn. And it’d appear more people than I first believed know what I am.” There was paranoia, but something else. A pink to his golden skin. Embarrassment. Every time she mentioned the inn.

Aurora would have forgotten his internal musings once. But she didn’t let it go this time.

“What’s your issue with the inn here? You kill someone?”

Naaril scoffed.

“No. Can we please just get to the stables. Think of poor Windcaller, he must be wondering where we are,” Naaril said, trying to exploit her weaknesses. Superficial, unbothered. She saw through it. Saw the darkness under his eyes, the lagging in his stride, he was wounded too. A sprain in his leg maybe. He looked terrible. Even in the midday sun.

They’d be lucky if he didn’t pass out.

“Naaril, stop.” Aurora finally had enough. Stepped out in front of him, blocking his path by the city gate. Passing guards and citizens side-eyed them. Naaril scowled, not at her. It wasn’t directed at her. “Windcaller and the horn can wait. At least sit down for an hour, eat some proper food.”

He considered it, but whatever it was truly bothering him returned with a vengeance. “No. I can’t. You can stay if you wish. I can go with or without you.” He stormed past her.

It hurt.

The fact he was still so willing to leave her, after everything. Wouldn’t argue for her to stay by his side.

Aurora gave it some thought when they first arrived, sure. The city was peaceful, safe, she could find something to do. But she cast Clairvoyance, and again, it led only to him. And blue light or not, she couldn’t deny that she’d become attached to the elf, had affection for him. She’d fought by his side.

She’d follow him anywhere, even if she didn’t want to.

Windcaller was waiting for them, just as they left him. Naaril pet him, fed him an apple. And then they rode out for Riverwood.

“You really meant that? I thought we made a good team at Ustengrav,” Aurora whispered. Naaril didn’t respond, only focused on Windcaller and the path ahead. “I’m sorry if I pushed you today. I just thought…we could do with some rest.”

“Aurora.” She hadn’t expected his tone to be so tender. He fiddled with Windcaller’s reins, looked back at her. “I-we could have. But I’ve my reasons for not wanting to … there.”

Aurora gave him a nod, reassured him she understood. That him not wanting to, was enough.

But she also didn’t expect him to disclose the personal reasons.

“There’s a woman, who I know would most certainly hate to see me.” His face was stern and blushed, and Aurora instantly knew the connotations to his words. She couldn’t help laughing. Naaril scowled again. And it really was for her this time.

“I’m sorry! I just didn’t expect that.” She tried to save face, all the while struggling to hold onto the saddle. “You must have really broken her heart.” Her voice was contorted with laughter, imagining Naaril as some sort of character from a rom-com. A world like this, and people found time for scorned lovers.

“Well…there wasn’t really much heart to any of it. It was a few nights. And I left without her knowing. For Winterhold. I fear I left her feeling cheated and used. It was a mistake.” Her laughter slowed to a complete silence. More connotations to his words, though these ones were vivid. Personal. Intimate.

She felt a sudden anxiety in being so close to him, feeling the warmth of his body at her front. Remembering all the times they’d touched, their hands, her falling into him many times like back to the first night they met. To the bridge, when she’d passed out, and his hands had been on her waist and stomach, around her face. When she used his brush, his hairs between her fingers. The way he watched her use it.

She felt a feverish heat, not of magic.

She tried to distract it, but only made it worse. “What about Brelyna? You seemed close. Does she feel cheated?”

“Possibly,” he said, without much emotion. Aurora shut her mouth.

Though Riverwood was small and nothing but a shadow compared to Whiterun, it was quaint. Comforting. Made Aurora feel safer than she did in Morthal. The weather was kinder, the afternoon sun gifted the town an ethereal glow. It was protected by the Throat of the World. She wondered if the Greybeards ever concerned themselves with the populace of Skyrim.

Chickens, dogs. People working by the river, at the lumber mill. It was peaceful.

Everyone knew who Naaril was, were curious of her, but not enough to ask or stare for too long. And they were friendly. Naaril was a friend of the town.

Sleeping Giant Inn.

Aurora could start writing reviews on all the inns she’d visited, and all the ones she was yet to.

“My favourite drinking buddy!”

Naaril only smiled awkwardly at the drunken man with bloodshot eyes. Didn’t linger around, instead dragged himself straight to the inkeep, Aurora close behind him.

A woman, shorter than Aurora – for once she didn’t feel small – watched them carefully, before intercepting Naaril’s attempt at talking to someone else. “Can I get you anything?”

Naaril was eyeing everyone else but her, paranoid and calculating. Seeking out his ‘friend’. But Aurora, she knew exactly who this ‘friend’ was. The blonde woman was too perceptive of Naaril, of her. Eyed their belongings. Every single thing she could see, she studied.

“We’d like to rent the attic room.” Naaril looked at Aurora as if she blew their cover, but she only felt validated by the woman’s reaction to her question.

“Well… we don’t have an attic room, but you can have the one on the left. Make yourself at home.”

Naaril went to refuse, but Aurora grabbed his hand after giving coin to the woman. Ushered him to the room given to them. “Since when did you become so reckless?”

“It’s her. She’s the ‘friend’. The moment you walked in, she had her eyes set on you. I’m telling you.”

She still had his hand in hers, he didn’t seem to feel it, too busy flittering his gaze about, convinced Aurora was wrong. But she wasn’t. The woman followed them into the room, closed the door behind her.

“So you’re the Dragonborn I’ve been hearing so much about… I think you’re looking for this.” And there and behold, the horn of Jurgen Windcaller held out to Naaril as if it were on a silver platter.

Ironic. It wasn’t an attic; it was a basement. Books and maps, potions and weapons. Nothing like the woman’s appearance suggested. Naaril was suspicious at first, heated even.

Aurora felt like a helpless bystander, a fly on the wall, as they argued back and forth on each other’s reasons for nearly everything. “I’m actually trying to help you –”

“- you made things harder for me if anything, made a long journey longer, and if you can't tell, I’m exhausted and beaten down. I don’t have time for games.”

The woman looked like she wanted to hit him. Looked disappointed that he might the Dragonborn she was waiting for. But she prevailed. “I knew the Greybeards would send you to Ustengrav. They’re nothing if not predictable. But I had to be sure you weren’t a Thalmor plant.”

Naaril didn’t show any offence. Just remaining irritation. “Well, I’m not a plant. Why would the Thalmor be after you anyway?”

“I’m part of group that’s been looking for you … someone like you, for a very long time. A group the Thalmor aren’t fond of. A group that remembers something most don’t - that the Dragonborn is the ultimate dragonslayer.”

Aurora listened intently. Was impartial to almost everything but Naaril being Dragonborn. Felt his concerns at what he just heard, in the way he fidgeted. The complications to it all, that it wasn’t just the Greybeards who knew.

“You’re the only one that can kill a dragon permanently by devouring its soul.”

Devoured sun, black wings. Zii. Spirit. Soul. That nausea returned to her at the thought. The images had a way of coming back so vividly.

“Can you do it? Can you devour a dragon’s soul?”

It calmed between them, Naaril and the woman. But they’d reached a stalemate, knew now that neither was each other’s enemy, but afraid they might be wasting each other’s time. Precious time.

“Yes. I can.”

Dragons were coming back. Coming back from death. Delphine – she eventually told them her name - thinks the Thalmor as culpable. Naaril was quick to refute it, yet agreed to follow her to Kynesgrove. Fuck if Aurora knew where that was, or what it meant for Naaril.

Delphine, she was an agent, pulled strings for everything to come into place. A map of dragon burial sites Naaril had unknowingly found for her. The horn. He was discomforted by it all, Aurora could see it in the tenseness of his jaw, his shoulders as they rode alongside Delphine under nightfall.

“What if it is the Thalmor?” Delphine was further ahead of them, unable to hear Aurora’s whisper.

“It’s not. Their presence here in Skyrim is nothing more than surveillance. Looking for any reason to start a new war with the Empire. I doubt even they know why the dragons are returning.”

Aurora agreed. Their worlds were different, but not as different as she first thought. “I guess you’ll find out soon.”

Snow began to fall atop of them, and Aurora knew they were closer and closer to the burial site. Kept thinking back to the dreams and visions. Afraid of the possibility that they might come true, or the fact she’d come face to face with a dragon.

What could she possibly do in the face of such a beast? Adrenaline was kicking in. Magicka preparing to be drained from her soul.

Soul. Spirit. Zii.

“Look!”

An inn. People were rushing out of the inn, some screaming. In the dark quiet of the night, Aurora could hear something over the screams. Somewhere further into the dark wilderness.

Wings. Like a storm, rumbling thunder in the distance. And the dizziness attacked her mind, her heart slowed. She had to grasp onto Naaril.

“No! Don’t go up there! A dragon’s attacking!” A woman yelled at Delphine, she looked back at Naaril, expectant.

“Where?” Naaril’s voice and face were calm, but Aurora knew better, had felt the anxiety in his body in the brief moment he held her in his arms, helping her down from Windcaller.

“Up there! I don’t know what it’s doing, but I don’t wanna find out.”

The woman continued running, along with the others. Delphine rested a hand on her sword, looked to Naaril. “Coming?”

Aurora felt as if a chain and ball was tied to her feet. Going up the hill, towards the sounds of thunder and immense power, it was like walking to her death. Naaril and Delphine weren’t hindered by the thought. But she was. Reluctance teased at her mind. She wanted to turn back, and yet couldn't.

“Fuck … Come on.” Black wings. Darkness. Her soul enslaved. It was like a nightmare, nowhere to go but into confrontation, to face the terror. Snow made its way into her hair and lashes, freezing on her bare neck and wrist. This was all real.

“Sahloknir! Ziil gro dovah ulse!”

They hid behind rocks. Aurora struggled to see, both obstructed and unwilling of seeing where the voice, the voice she knew, came from. Its wings strong and ear-piercing. Light stretching out into the sky, flashing in Naaril’s beautiful eyes.

She wanted to stare at his face forever but forced herself to see what he saw.

“Slen Tiid Vo!”

The ground tremored, rocks spewed from before them, falling from the sky and nearly hitting them. Delphine swore, Aurora fell to her stomach.

Roars. She felt its screams in her bones, its powerful awakening. Its first steps into a new world, like a newborn. “Alduin, thuri! Boaan tiid vokriiha suleyksejun kruziik?”

Alduin.

Aurora got up, and there in the snow and dark, black wings, looking over the skeletal remnants of its brother gaining back its flesh and scales, its eyes and teeth. “Naaril…” she whispered, knowing full well he didn’t hear.

“Ful, losei Dovahkiin? Zu’u koraav nid nol dov do hi.”

Naaril stood tall, facing the beasts as if they were like him. And Aurora realized it was because they were, inside his blood. Like she was drawn to him, he was drawn to them.

And they watched.

Black wings, and armour, crown of thorns. Maw sharp but not yet big enough to swallow a universe. Glowing eyes watched Naaril. “You do not even know our tongue, do you? Such arrogance, to dare take for yourself the name of Dovah.”

And then it looked to her. He looked at her.

Hin zii ahrk slen los dii. Your soul and body are mine.

“Sahloknir, krii daar joorre.”

His brother entered the sky, knocking her and Delphine to the ground. Naaril unsheathed his sword, shouted into the vastness of night, but all Aurora could feel was the horrible gaze of Alduin, the World Eater.

Chapter Text

“I see that mortals have become arrogant while I slept.”

Sahloknir was strong, erratic, and violent in not only his flight, but his shouts. His Voice, relentless.

But so was Naaril’s.

The wings of the dragon may have knocked Aurora down every sweep of them, might have stalled Delphine in firing arrows, but Naaril stood in its fury, absorbed the blows. Eyes rolling in the back of his head, shoulders tensing, teeth bared. He was an animal.

“Yol Toor!” Fire exhaled from his mortal mouth, flaring into Sahloknir, burning the dragon’s wings. He fell mid-flight, shaking the very earth they stood on as he crashed on his side.

Aurora’s hope that he’d been too wounded to get up was fleeting. The dragon laughed, “It’s to be a real fight, then. Good.” The sharp fingers of his half-incinerated wings hauled him to his tall height, neck curled as he observed the three of them. Naaril was hunched, sword in hand, circling Sahloknir like a wolf. The grass caught aflame around them, consequence of the inhuman shout that’d come from the elf’s throat. The only light in the darkness of battle.

Aurora not far behind, Steadfast Ward ready to be cast in one hand, and the other clenched into a fist. Her chest was heaving, she couldn’t calm herself.

“But I do not fear you, Dovahkiin.”

“Now!” Delphine screamed. Naaril ran in, Aurora barely reacted in time, casting Telekinesis and tearing down on the dragon’s thorned head as he began to shout. Naaril had almost been hit by frost, cold enough to freeze the ground solid.

Delphine and Naaril attacked Sahloknir, unwilling to give him an opening. Steel slashing into scales, into his neck and face. Aurora ready to defend.

He tried to take flight in the barrage of strikes, but his left wing had been all but melted away, leaving only bone. Pain. Aurora could see it in the beast’s eyes. Time stilled for her then.

Dragons weren’t supposed to be so sentient. So … human. It fought like it should have been human. Its jaw and teeth, its sword. Tail ramming into the earth out of some human emotion, anger and agony. He hit Delphine with his maw, thrusting her into the air.

Aurora managed to soften the blow, Stoneflesh glittering over Delphine’s body as she fell.

But time was slow. Impossibly slow. As was her heart. That ravenous ache in her veins and head pounding her into somewhere other than reality. Naaril was growling, matching the fierceness of Sahloknir. A dance of teeth and sword.

Yet heat and cold enveloped Aurora, distracting her from the fight.

The World Eater was watching. She could feel it. Watching as the Dragonborn shouted a force strong enough to snap Sahloknir’s neck and slashed his sword across the vulnerable flesh. Blood spray and silence.

Alduin’s brother was dead. And he would not return. His soul rushing from a beastly vessel into a mortal.

Naaril absorbed Sahloknir’s soul in magnificent lights, leaving a skeletal body with mere pieces of life attached to it.

Blades. Delphine was the last of the Blades. Naaril didn’t need her to explain what that meant. He knew the name. Was connected in some way. Delphine expected it. Smiled sadly when she told him.

Protectors of the Septim Emperors. Dragonslayers.

No purpose, not until now. Naaril, the ultimate Dragonslayer. She believed him. Had no choice in the face of his power.

They rode back to Riverwood. The Thalmor the next target. “It’s not them Delphine… I know, trust me, I know what they’ve done, as you do. And that’s why I’m certain they’re not behind the dragons.”

“Maybe so. But they’ll have information on what is, and I know we at least agree on that.”

Aurora listened but didn’t hear. Words, without meaning. Windcaller carried a heavy burden, skinned dragon flesh and armour. Something like sadness sat in Aurora’s stomach.

Sahloknir was no more, if not now just a small part of Naaril’s blood. Forgotten to everyone but the Dragonborn.

Dragonborn, Dovahkiin. Naaril was weary, broken even, after the battle. He guided Windcaller, but rested against Aurora’s front, she had to hold his waist, support him upwards. Delphine was worried, glanced back at them.

“Dragonborn?”

He didn’t respond, and Aurora swore, feeling him lose consciousness in her arms, head falling back and into her shoulder. Their faces almost touching, the smell of him intrusive, the softness of his hair curling into her neck.

“We’re nearly in Riverwood,” Delphine reassured her.

Aurora took the reins from Naaril’s limp hands. Windcaller must have sensed it, slowing as to guide her, to help her do something she’d never done before.

Josh had once taken horse riding lessons, it didn’t last long. Dad was afraid he’d hurt himself. Horses were frightening, dad was right to worry, they were large, unpredictable. But they were loyal and empathetic when it counted. Windcaller, he attuned to her anxieties. His breathing soothed Aurora as they rode into early dawn.

Only Orgnar was awake in the Sleeping Giant Inn. He didn’t say anything as Delphine dragged the unconscious Naaril into the room that led to the basement, Delphine's hideout, Aurora following closely behind. He must have known Delphine was no mere inkeep.

“Will he be alright?”

Delphine lifted Naaril onto the table, unclasped his chest armour, revealing the protruding bone of his shoulder. Dislocated.

Aurora felt sick at the sight, but became distracted with the never-ending bruises and abrasions on his torso, along his arms. He was stronger than she thought, without the armour she realized how large he was.

A life of battle and adventure.

Yet on his face were lovely features, what she imagined a prince would look like. Softer than she knew of Naaril, now that he was asleep. His face flinched with pain when Delphine touched his shoulder.

“You’re a mage, right? I need your help.” Aurora was panicking, but kept it hidden, at least as much as she could. She joined Delphine’s side, ready for who knows what. Ready to gag. “We need to relax his tendons and muscles for this to work.” A groan came from Naaril, deep and agonizing.

“A spell… okay, uh…” She hadn’t learned any magic to do with specific anatomy. She knew a healing spell but it only tended external wounds, like scratches and small burns, and even then she had no idea what she was doing.

There was no name for it. No words came from her quick meditation as she lay a hand on Naaril’s flesh. There was only intent. She felt the golden light pour from her and into Naaril, his breathing slowed, muscles loosened under her touch. “Perfect.”

One hand on his forearm, and the other on his bicep, Delphine pushed the bone, slowly. The spell was wearing off quickly, Aurora had to retain it, keep her hand on his burning skin, ignore the pained sounds from his throat. Delphine pushed further, and Naaril’s whimpers grew louder until eventually, a click erupted from his shoulder.

It was done.

Delphine released a breath of relief. “Good work…” Her name. Delphine was asking for her name.

“Aurora,” she whispered, dizzy and queasy from the sound Naaril’s bone just made. She was never good with injuries. Josh was the worst of them, and Aurora always had to look away, hide in another room if he didn’t go to hospital. Always climbing things he wasn’t supposed to and suffering the consequences.

“He’ll need a day’s rest at the least. In the meantime, I’ll work up a plan on getting information from the Thalmor. It shouldn’t take too long. The ambassadors here are prone to creating opportunities.”

Aurora didn’t say anything, listened, but didn’t respond, only watched Naaril become at peace in his sleep. He’d grabbed her wrist without her knowing during Delphine’s procedure and hadn’t let go. Delphine left them for a small table covered in letters and scrolls. She knew what she was looking for already.

“You should get some rest too, Aurora. You can use the bed in the room above. Free of charge.”

Before Aurora could take up Delphine’s offering, Naaril started rambling, grasped onto her tighter. She leaned in. He was mumbling names, she heard ‘mother’, ‘Calia’. Calia… She’d never heard him speak of anyone by that name, but the way he spoke, it was a yearning sound. Grief.

Aurora was gentle to wipe away a drop of sweat from his forehead, but his eyes fluttered for a moment. Half-awake, he gazed up at her, she froze. Time stopped as she waited.

“Brelyna?”

Disappointment. She knew it was wrong, but she couldn’t help feeling it. He fell back into a slumber, released her arm.

“Get some rest, Naaril.”

Aurora left the secret room for upstairs, vacant of anything but fatigue.

She couldn’t sleep. Her body was aching for it, yet her mind couldn’t give her rest. Overtired. Aurora rolled back and forth on the clean blankets, probably dirtying them with grime and muck from the battle with Sahloknir.

Your soul and body are mine. Hin zii ahrk slen los dii.

Had those words been meant for her? Or for Naaril. Had they even been said? Or had she imagined it all. Just nightmares.

Nightmares that snaked their way into reality.

Alduin. The World Eater. His name repeated in her head, maybe that’s why she couldn’t sleep. Yet she wanted it so bad. To close her eyes and feel and see nothing. Even better, to wake up on that bus and forget any of this ever happened. Forget Naaril. Forget his bright eyes… bright unnatural eyes.

She could see them against the blackness of her lids. Blood red. Scaled armour the darkness of midnight. Razor teeth and bones. It … he haunted her. “Damn it!”

All she could feel in the bed was cold. All she could see was a great Sun and black wings.

Aurora left the room, left the inn altogether.

Daybreak. Some of the townsfolk were getting ready for the day. The blacksmith, lumber workers, fishermen and hunter already busy. Some children were playing tag while their mother brought wood into the house for their hearth.

It should have calmed her.

The fresh air, the trickling of a river close by. Birds in the trees rustling around. Chickens clucking. The mountains snow lightly falling upon the town.

But something was wrong.

Whispers. All around her.

Aurora hugged herself, suddenly uneased. She turned to the direction of the sounds and froze.

No longer was she standing in the middle of Riverwood. No longer was it day. No longer was the ground solid beneath her.

Utter darkness if not for the two moons … below her? She took a step, and a ripple surrounded her boot. “What?”

But it wasn’t quite water, neither a reflection of the night sky.

It was the night.

Lights, pretty and faint, surrounded her, she reached out for them, but they didn’t react to her flesh. Above her, far above, were clouds, vast clouds, and as she looked closer, there were shadows of mountains…

She had to look back down. Unsteady and confused.

It was all magicka. Pulsating by her skin. Overwhelming her to the point she thought she might fall, down or up.

She might have, if not for the low growl behind her.

“Ahrk til rek los, fin Dovahkiin’s grah-zeymahzin.”

It was him.

His wings spanned most of her view. Head like a serpent sculpture, resting on the ground, observing her every breath, glowing eyes following the beat of her heart, the gulp in her throat as she realized how real it all was.

Was it real?

Mouth agape, she couldn’t make herself speak. Under his watchful gaze she couldn’t do anything.

It was then he looked away from her, something like a smile upon his mouth, if that was even possible. Pleased with how afraid he made her feel. “What spellworking is this? A joor in the realms outside of Vus.”

She had no idea if he was asking her, if he knew what he was asking, she certainly didn't. But she soon realized he was just as confused as her.

“Where are we?” She hadn’t expected to have the courage to speak, let alone at him.

She expected her body to shake as he budged towards her, but felt no such sensation. There was no ground. No physical world for her or his body to affect or be affected by.

For a creature his size, he was fast, he indeed moved like a dragon, but there was something more to him. Not human … but human enough.

“Between Oblivion and Aetherius, as you mortals proclaim. Daar fod kos … impossible. Aan lot sod fah aan joor vahdin.” He studied the space they resided in, seemingly unknowing to it all too.

Strangely, it gave Aurora some comfort. That they were at least on the same level in that aspect. He might be able to eat her whole, but he’d still be dumb to the phenomenon allying them.

And it gave her courage.

“I don’t understand what you're saying.” She hadn’t meant to sound irritated with the great World Eater before her, and he hadn’t expected it. He budged towards her again, and she was forced to back away.

“Your arrogance, mortals know no bounds,” he said, circling her small body, as if ready to pounce at any moment.

What a beautiful and twisted place to be devoured, amongst the stars and moons and sun.

Sun. It was farther away than anything else, but it was there, and it was burning bright. They both turned to look at it. “This is really real, isn’t it. That’s … is that Nirn?”

He followed where she pointed, to the clouds above, the glow of an atmosphere. He didn’t have to answer for her to be validated. It was Nirn, it was Naaril’s world, and they were in the universe surrounding it.

“Mundus,” she whispered.

But why?

Why was she in stars with the God of destruction. The thing that was bringing back dragons. The thing that kept devouring the universe in her sleep and waking visions.

She’d never heard of anything like this in her own world. Maybe lucid dreams, astral projection. But she was in her body, her flesh and bones and blood. Her robes, still dirty from the world above.

Auora felt him watching her. It was uncomfortable, his eyes but no voice. She had to break the silence. “What do you make of this?” She turned to meet his stare but was met instead with sunlight glaring into her eyes, cold wind blowing into her face and hair.

She stood in the center of Riverwood, arm still reached out to the sky above, chest rising and falling with the quickness of her breath.

Alduin was gone, as was all sensations of his presence.

Chapter Text

Naaril was forced to heal. He didn’t want to, it was clear to Aurora the static nature of resting for a few days was insufferable to him. But sleep often took him against his will.

It didn’t for her. She tried. She really did. But closed eyes meant the possibility of stars and darkness. Meant the possibility of seeing Alduin. And Aurora wasn’t ready for that.

She read through her tiredness, if and when she wasn’t outside with Windcaller. Read about every book Delphine owned in her secret room.

‘To master Alteration, first accept that reality is a falsehood. There is no such thing. Our reality is a perception of greater forces impressed upon us for their amusement.’

‘To cast Alteration spells is to convince a greater power that it will be easier to change reality as requested than to leave it alone.’

Reality and Other Falsehoods.

Aurora assumed as much, that maybe her entire existence, both in her world and now this one, had to be the amusement of some higher being, energy. She just didn’t think there’d be so many realities, and if she’d ever return to her one.

Delphine was busy jumbling between innkeep, and spy. Serving patrons, and writing letters to her people, whoever they were. Gathering any and all intel she could on Thalmor activity. Aurora didn’t have the chance to talk to her, about anything.

About Alduin. About the thing… that happened the previous morning. And she couldn’t tell Naaril, fear of putting a burden on his already burdened mind. And maybe afraid of what he’d think.

She spoke to Alduin, actually conversed with him, the creature that ordered for their death. Aurora hadn’t missed the recognition in Naaril’s eyes when he took in the dragon at the burial site, there was a connection there.

She was afraid. Did it make her a traitor? Because what if it wasn’t a one-off phenomenon, and there was more to come? Somewhere between Oblivion and Aetherius, bonded to the World Eater. It wasn’t enough to be the alien, she had to be affixed to a red-eyed, demonic creature. A creature that really didn’t like her only friend, and ally. Would Naaril cast her aside if she told the truth? Of the dreams, and Mundus.

“What’re you reading?” It was Naaril. Sleep dripped from his voice, just woken up from a long nap. Hair curled in the wrong places, eyes drooped and body far too relaxed for someone like him.

Aurora closed the book, focused her attention on him. It didn’t last long, the blanket once wrapped in his arms, fell around his naked waist. His chest was wide, well-built. His whole body was. She looked away quickly. “It’s a sad story. Think it’s called ‘Of Fjori and Holgeir’. I’ve read something like it back in my world. Star-crossed lovers.”

Well, she hadn’t actually read Romeo and Juliet. She watched the 1968 movie in high school, once. She remembered bits and pieces. Remembered finding the actor who played Juliet, beautiful. Eyes mostly fixed on her and not anything else. She didn’t do amazing on the essay following it.

“The Huntress and Warlord? Snake bites?” Naaril breathed a laugh as she nodded. “Didn’t take Delphine for a hopeless romantic. Perhaps I should stop assuming so much about her.”

He must have remembered Delphine fixing his shoulder. There was that guilt again, whether it was solely to do with her being a Blade, or how he treated her. Maybe both. It didn’t matter. “How’re you feeling? You look better… told you we should’ve stayed in Whiterun.” He missed her teasing tone, face twisting into chagrin.

Aurora could've hit herself, and yet didn’t have the strength to apologise. Instead, she pulled a chair beside his bed, sat next to him as he rubbed at tired eyes. “The dragon that woke up Sahloknir… Its name was Alduin. In High Hrothgar, I read a book about him. The World-Eater.”

She wanted to tell him more, but he understood enough from the fragments. There was wariness in those golden eyes. He understood very well, but somewhere in his eyes was also disbelief, doubt.

“Altmeri culture doesn’t fancy worship of dragons. We don’t really talk about them at all. But I know enough. Alduin is a Nordic myth, passed down from generation to generation. That dragon may have the namesake, but don’t believe the legends. They’re just stories, Aurora.”

She felt the beginnings of vexation, felt it show on her face. He didn’t believe her, didn’t give her any credibility, or the Nords. He’d seen it, hadn’t he? The great dragon bringing his brother back from the dead. Wings black as midnight.

It was Alduin. Aurora had half the mind to spill it all. The visions and voices of Alduin, the stars and darkness she stood within, beside the dragon he calls a myth.

Naaril mistook it for fear. “Trust me. Don’t let an ancient prophecy frighten you. It was just a dragon, and if we’ve learned anything, it’s dragons can be killed. The world isn’t going to be devoured by a myth.” He grasped her hand, stole it from her lap.

Aurora felt so small in his grip, small but safe. The anger drifted away, relishing the warmth of his skin on hers. They remained like that for a while. Him sitting against the headboard, her in a chair beside him, clasped hands in the distance between them.

They could hear Delphine mumbling to herself down in the basement, she sounded hopeful. Naaril shared a look. “It never ends, does it? You can risk your life, kill beasts from stories, and still, it won’t be enough. The Thalmor are a lost cause, I’m certain they won’t know anything. Another wild goose chase.”

The stars… She wanted to tell him. Sat at the tip of her tongue. It churned within her, her fingers gripping tightly onto his. Naaril noticed, scrutinized the shift of emotion. “I,” Aurora whispered, and she swore his thumb caressed the top of her hand, coaxing her to reveal everything. It was so easy. Up until now, she’d never had secrets. Her whole life, she’d been open with everyone she cared about. “What else would we do?”

A disappointment rested upon his features as she spoke. But she couldn’t feel guilty about it. He kept secrets from her too.

“Return the horn to the Greybeards, you finish the trials. Then what? They might ask the same thing of you. But as long as I’m here, I’ll help, like you’ve helped me.”

Because what else would she do?

Naaril went to say something, but Delphine trudged up the stairs, scroll in her hands, Naaril was quick to release Aurora’s. A flash of rejection, embarrassment, crossed her mind at the loss of his touch.

“I’ve figured out how we’re going to get you into the Thalmor Embassy.”

Naaril’s response was instant, and unmoving. “Absolutely not.”

Any improvement between the two was thrown in the rubbish, Delphine was back to looking like she wanted to hit him, but she seemed to get a grasp on why he was spurning it. More than Aurora did. “How many know you’re dragonborn?”

“More than I’d like. Besides, I’d be picked for a spy as soon as I stepped foot in that fortress.”

Delphine wasn’t having it, Aurora felt she needed to step in, but didn’t get the chance. Her voice became razor-sharp. “I’ve a sense if the Thalmor had any issue with a fugitive mage escaped from Helgen, there’d be Justiciars already on your heels. To them, you’re a nobody in this land. A mercenary with nothing to their name-”

“-an Altmer nobody. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m one of them. Summerset Isles born. There could be someone there that’ll recognize me. I’ve family who are Thalmor.” Delphine went quiet. Naaril’s expression matched the ferocity in her former tone. “It’s a risk I’m not willing to take. Is it one you are?”

Delphine crossed her arms, prowled around the room deep in thought. “This is the best I can do. Mightn’t get another chance at this, dragonborn. The Thalmor will have intel, whether it’s to do with dragons or not. We need a lead.”

What else would she do?

“I’ll go.”

Aurora, what had she expected? Outrage, Naaril to rebuff her suggestion. Delphine to tell her to stay out of it. Neither did as she anticipated.

“That’s not … terrible. Nobody will know who she is,” Naaril said, looking past her and at Delphine. Mind ticking as it usually was. Never dull.

“How can you be sure?”

Aurora stepped in then, “Because I’m not from Tamriel... or Mundus.” Delphine regarded Aurora intensely. Eyed her features, her body, her hair. And something clicked in her blue eyes.

“So it seems. The Last Dragonborn, dragons brought back from the dead, and you. A powerful mage sent from the heavens.”

Powerful mage. Far from it.

Aurora shook her head. “Naaril saved my life. I just want to help him.” She couldn’t bring herself to meet his stare, struggled in the presence of it on her. Delphine smiled, a kind one.

“Well, let’s begin.”

Thalmor Embassy. A large gathering filled with nobles and agents. Food, alcohol, politics. Hosted by the Ambassador of Thalmor in Skyrim, Elenwen.

Pretend to be one of them, suck up to mass murderers and criminals dressed in formal wear. Sneak away in the midst of it all, and find Elenwen’s files.

Aurora shouldn’t have put herself forward. She had near to no knowledge of the landscape she resided in, how it all worked on a political level, the history of Tamriel. She was far from aristocratic, doubted anyone would buy her façade.

But there was no choice. And she wanted to help. If she was here for a reason, and not some horrible space and time acciden - It had to be for a purpose, black wings loomed in her mind - at least she could do something in the face of this world’s crisis.

“At least I won’t be alone,” Aurora said to Naaril over his shoulder. Windcaller beneath them, neighing and huffing as he took them on the road to Solitude. The most beautiful city of Skyrim, Naaril had told her.

“Don’t rely on the contact, I doubt he will be of much help once you’re in the thick of the Embassy. This will be a stealth operation; you think you can actually do it?”

No. “Yes… If I use the scroll you gave me. Go invisible, find Elenwen's office, leave. But say if I did get caught-”

“-you’d be tortured until it was impractical to keep you alive. Don’t get caught, Aurora.”

Horror enveloped her then, violent images passing her mind. How much pain could she endure? She’d never given much thought to something like that. How much would she have to go through to give up information, if it meant risking the safety of people she cared about?

It was both difficult and easy to imagine. As she sat behind Naaril, shrouded by snow and his warmth, hands resting on Windcaller’s coat, she thought, yes, she could endure whatever was thrown her way. That she might even find a way to survive anything.

But she’d been lucky. It was stupid to think otherwise. To think that it was due to herself, that she was still alive in this ruthless world. It was only a matter of time before it all caught up to her.

Anxiety. She had to stop thinking about it.

“The name you gave Delphine for the invitation,” Naaril said, pulling Aurora out of her own mind. “It came to you quick. A name I’ve never heard before. Has it sentimental value?” There was a teasing edge to his voice, Aurora laughed.

“My mum’s name. It’s South African. Means the beautiful one, fitting for her.” Aurora didn’t have much time to think about her parents. She saw fleeting memories of them when lost in thought, but she never stopped to think on them as she did her siblings.

Strange, they were the biggest part of her life on Earth. She saw them every day, lived with them.

“Amahle,” Naaril said, a smile in his inflection of it. “Your mother softens your heart, I can hear it in your voice. I envy you for that.”

Aurora should have left it there, but the journey to Solitude would be long, and it’d be a while yet till they rested for the night. “Your mother, what was she like? You never speak of her.”

Another boundary crossed. He tensed in the shoulders but answered her anyway. “Intimidating comes to mind. She wasn’t always like that, not that it makes a difference in how I feel about her.”

“Do you have any good memories of her?”

Naaril lost a bit of that tension. Thought hard on her question.

“When I was very little, before the Great War, she would take me to visit the Temple of Auri-El. We would pray together. She would tell me I was the mirror of him, and I would stare and stare at his statue, searching for myself in it.”

It didn’t sound so odd to her, knowing the Altmer believed themselves descendants of the Gods, but he made it sound outlandish.

“She thought me exceptional. Pushed me harder for it. Maybe she knew, somehow, what I was... She always seemed to know things even I didn't. Impossible things.”

Dragonborn. Akatosh and Auri-El one and the same. Maybe she did.

“We are their making in a lot of ways," Aurora said.

Naaril laughed, nodded his head.

“Calia, my mother, she would agree very much with that.”

Calia.

He missed her more than he knew, it must have felt like a curse for him. To miss what he wanted to get away from.

Solitude. The capital of Skyrim for good reason. Aurora was too mesmerized to speak. Dawn touched the stone walls, and on the top of the arch, the blue roof of a palace. Glittering in sunlight, perhaps gilded, gold and jewels. A the bottom was a large port, ships almost as large, docked with their sails whipping in the wind.

If she could have it her way, both her and Naaril would stay within the city, forget everything, the dragons and Alduin, the Thalmor… He wouldn’t want that, and a horrible thought came to her, why did she even think of that?

“Told you it was beautiful,” Naaril grinned at her. They left Windcaller at the stables, and entered the massive gate, into the city’s hub.

So many people. Nobles and peasants. Nords, Imperials, Altmer. She caught sight of an Argonian, a surreal excitement touched her. This world was so vast, dream-like. She’d never imagined anything like it back home.

She could go insane within it all, if it weren’t for Naaril. The only anchor she had. They reached one of the stone buildings, the sign ‘Winking Skeever’. Their destination.

“Will you be alright to go in alone? I need to meet with Delphine, sort some things out. I'll come back.”

Aurora would have preferred him with her when she met the contact, Malborn, but she pushed it down. “Sure. I’ll be fine.” He left her, regardless of the lacking confidence in her response.

There were more important issues.

The Winking Skeever was by far the best inn. It couldn’t get any better. Candlelight, flowers, actual tables and chairs. The food smelled delicious, diverse. Not many resided in it, either asleep upstairs in the rooms, or out in the city.

The people who were there gave her no thought, and she used the invisibility to look for the wood elf, Malborn. It didn’t take long to find him, sat at a table on his lonesome.

He wasn’t what she’d expected.

“A mutual friend sent me,” Aurora said, a friendly smile to pass as just that, friends. Naaril told her how to act. Not be overly-friendly, but enough that they would seem like acquaintances. Malborn looked her up and down quickly, the mage robes and faint dirt stained on her skin. She’d tried her best to appear composed, but he noticed.

“You’re who she picked?” His disbelief was brief, returned for professionalism. He stood to her height, barely taller than her, “Here’s the deal. I can smuggle some equipment into the Embassy for you. Put some thought into what you wish to bring, the Thalmor take security very seriously.”

Shit. Neither Delphine or Naaril told her this part of the operation. She didn’t have much on her as it was. “Uhh, I guess this scroll?” She went to pull it out, but Malborn was quick to stop her, putting a hand on her wrist.

“Not here. I’ve got a room upstairs.”

Aurora blushed. It wasn’t him that caused it, but a few people watching them. They weren’t suspicious, curious patrons if anything. And she knew what it looked like. How close her and Malborn were, his hand on her, the room…

A woman smirked.

“Fuck,” Aurora whispered as she followed the wood elf. Naaril would hear about this.

“Hopefully our mutual friend got your measurements right.” He gestured to the bed where a pile of blue and brown fabrics lay. She could make out a dress, belts, fur, jewelry – Norse looking beads – and she felt a bit spoilt. It was all beautiful, noble. And on the floorboard beneath were knee high boots, lace up. Leather. Thankfully the heels weren’t tall. It was all quite trendy.

“I’ll leave you to it. Someone will come to escort you to the stables this afternoon,” he explained quickly, obviously in a hurry, she knew he had to be at the Embassy before her. He pointed to the bathtub, filled with hot water, and a desk with towels. Aurora gave him the invisibility scroll as he went to leave.

“Thank you.”

“Just don’t mess this up,” he said with a finality that made her think she actually might mess it up. And soon she was left alone.

Though she hadn’t much grasp of time here, she knew she had more than a few hours to get ready. She placed her satchel on the bed next to the clothes, went through it all.

Naaril’s brush. The concoction for her hair, and perfume from Arcadia. It would be enough.

She was tempted to take a nap, the bed looked warm and comfy, better than the beds at the other inns, but she couldn’t risk sleeping through the day. Naaril might actually leave her then.

She took to eating sweets on a silver tray, complimentary to the room, she assumed. She ate as she roamed around the room, mindlessly spinning on her feet like she did as a child, eating her favourite snacks. A habit she couldn’t get rid of.

One thing she really missed was her phone. She struggled to get ready without music. Her music. She missed a lot of things. Showers. Fuzzy towels. Foam mattresses. Her job. Knowing exactly how each day would pan out. Anything could happen at any moment here, a dragon might destroy Solitude. Alduin might turn up in a waking dream.

Aurora distracted those thoughts before she was frozen with grief. She’d been lucky not to suffer it yet. Too busy surviving, absorbing the world around her.

Only a matter of time.

Undressed from the robes, she slipped into the bathtub, went under, couldn’t close her eyes. Too afraid of the darkness behind them. Air bubbles flittered up from her mouth, candlelight shimmered on the surface.

It was peaceful. Quiet and soft. She could almost forget where she was. She didn’t want to abandon the feeling. Like she had no responsibilities, wouldn’t have to go to the Embassy.

Naaril was really letting her do it.

Don’t get caught, Aurora.

Chest burning and tight, head squeezing against itself, she had to come up eventually. She thought she’d feel the edge of wooden tub under her hands, feel the warmth of candles…

There was nothing as she shot up from what was once hot water.

Stars. Cold. Mundus.

Aurora shivered, peered down at her wet, naked body, not supported by anything. Almost floating around in nothingness, the in-between.

“Grik aan sahlo mal joor.”

Aurora was brisk on her feet, didn’t have to be careful of slippery ground. Her stomach flipped however, at the sense of nothing holding her down, she hadn’t noticed it as much the first … This was happening again.

Alduin. She faced him; hands clenched at her sides.

“This isn’t the best time,” she said, as if he had any more control than she did. It wasn’t until she realized his eyes watched, that she shrunk in on herself.

He was acknowledging her body, like he understood it. Red, and blue – the strangest eyes she’d ever seen, not fitting for a dragon- lingered by her lower stomach, her chest, her hips. Breath surging from his nostrils, a growl sizzling somewhere in his throat.

Aurora thought he might breathe fire on her, prepared to cast a ward.

He didn’t.

Instead, he laughed. Guttural as his speaking voice, almost too much even for him. “I forget… Fin brit koraav do aan vahdin.” Something of remembrance, a pleasant memory, passed his inhuman features. “Hin slen … tastes better than that of joor men.”

Aurora was uncomfortable, lashed out at the overwhelming sensations of his presence. “If you’re going to threaten me, at least let me understand.” Alduin hummed, snake-like and slithery, he looked away. A rabid-dog grin on skeletal jaws.

“You hide your fear well. I do not feel the need to threaten." His speech though menacing, reverberating through her body, held something broken about it.

Aurora relaxed at the absence of his animal stare, his confession. He wasn’t talking about eating her then, whether she should believe him or not…

“Why’s this happening again? Is it the Gods doing this?”

Alduin roamed the darkness surrounding them, as if familiar to the emptiness, the infinite cold, only portals of glimmering light. Heaven and Hell. Moons and Sun. Spirit and Earth.

“I do not speak for naan rah. Yet know this, they have forsaken your kind. Akatosh dabbles not in joor intrigue.”

“Then why is Naaril dragonborn?” Aurora felt a swelling pride in the reaction she got from the might World Eater. He met her with a stare filled with disdain. "The Gods made him dragonborn for a reason. Maybe they have more to do with this than you think." She expected a brutal response, arrogance, denial.

But silence, until his gaze hardened into satisfaction.

Aurora had gone still, chest heaving as he imposed his thorned body upon her. She hadn’t even realized it.

In her mind, she begged to return to the inn room. How much time was passing, if any at all? She looked up at the world above, the clouds and mountains. It was impossible to tell what was real, and imagination.

A whispered shout, she almost missed it.

The air shifted, black scales and wings dissolved in beautiful lights until nothing remained of a dragon.

A large hand reached for the back of her neck, Aurora sucked in a breath, attempting to put as much distance between them as she could. She put up a struggle. But he was strong, nails digging into the flesh of her nape, pushed her into his pale body. Her chest pressed into his stomach.

Fiery warmth emanated from him, and for the briefest moment, Aurora arched into him. Pleasant. He smelled good. Better than Naaril. What?

“Qiilaan,” Alduin breathed, angular face drawing to hers, sharp nose brushing against her hair. “For I am Alduin, Bane of Kings. Ni orin fin Dovahkiin fen krii Zu'u.” A hushed moan was torn from Aurora’s throat, instinctual she revealed the curve of her shoulder and neck to him, eyes shut tight, afraid to see his face.

“Zu'u fent nahkip nau hin joor zii.”

I shall feed on your soul.

Aurora with all her might, shoved at him, breaking their bodies apart, his lips and long black tongue releasing her skin. She fell, and as she did, caught sight of a head full of midnight hair craned back with laughter.

It was the last thing she saw before falling back into the tub of hot water.

“Fucking hell.”