#The World on Our Shoulders

[mareenavee]

The World on Our Shoulders, Chapter 42: That Which Is Already Lost

https://archiveofourown.org/works/44705740/chapters/163301524

10th of First Seed 4E 202

There had been a point where Athis thought for sure that nothing Nyenna could do would be enough for him to hold a grudge. Even as he stared up the hill at her, knowing full well she’d lagged behind to talk to that damned mercenary, he still felt a twinge of regret for all the anger he’d been holding on to. Still, when she waved to him, he didn’t return the gesture. He just grit his teeth and dove back into his grim thoughts.

He’d heard her back in camp a few days ago — he’d heard loud and clear her admission that she didn’t know how to love. What, pray tell, was it that they had, in that case? After their fight over that, he’d acted as if all was well, had even embraced her and offered soothing words, but most of that was to placate her. Had that been wrong?

At the end of the day, he wasn’t going to renege on the promises he’d made to her. Love wasn’t always convenient, he was finding. The both of them had a lot of room to grow, and the optimistic part of his mind still held on to hope — right there, next to all that anger.

He could try and sympathize with how overwhelmed she must be feeling. She had been correct in all their disagreements, however — he could never truly know the weight of the world like she did these days. Anyone would buckle under so much pressure. That she was still standing was a miracle, if you asked anyone else. But he knew how strong she could be. Athis had seen it first hand. And he wanted to preserve that — keep her hand in his. All he’d ever wanted to do was keep her by his side. He could support her with what skills he did have — and he’d been honing those for plenty of time. He could hold his own in a fight.

But the fear… The fear was something she couldn’t so easily let go of. It was insidious, and seeped into every thought. Worry consumed her at every branching path of her quest. He could sympathize with fear. Nyenna had trusted him with the worst of hers, and often still did, even when she talked in circles like she had during their argument. In the past, before even that, she’d cried in his arms enough times now when the grief of losing her brother hit like a tidal wave out of nowhere. She’d become convinced that whoever followed her into battle — or into whatever other chaos she was getting herself into these days — would never come back out again. That didn’t have to be the case. He’d repeated this to her and to himself a thousand times.

Athis let out a long, frustrated sigh through his nose and folded the map he’d been glancing at without absorbing any of the information. He knew that Riften was just up ahead. They’d be rejoining the main path soon enough. Thankfully, his earlier scouting revealed no Thalmor to be seen. Though he’d forgotten all the specifics, it was known that Riften had sided early on with the Stormcloaks, anyway.

He watched as Nyenna descended the hill and Sero managed to catch up with her. She threw the mercenary a worried look and then hurried down the path. Athis tucked away his map and crossed his arms over his chest, opting to bite back any scorn before he spoke. -> Read the rest on AO3!

[changelingsandothernonsense]

Commission for @mareenavee

Nyenna is one of my favourites as far as Dragonborns are concerned and mareenavee's fic The World on Our Shoulders is amazing and really worth the read!

Thank you so much for trusting me with this <3

[mareenavee]

The World on Our Shoulders | Chapter 41: The Choices We Made

5th of First Seed 4E 202

Nyenna’s heart seized in her chest as she watched Athis glare at her and leave their tent, heedless of the wind and weather. His skin was bare to the elements below his cloak, having forgone his armor in his haste, but it seemed his anger was such that he barely felt it. It was as if nothing — not even illness or worse — could quell the fire. And that, she realized, was her fault entirely. Without much hesitation, she exited their tent as well, jogging to keep up with him, her own cloak billowing out behind her.

Her thoughts were racing as if she’d encountered some grand danger, not just the anger and hurt of her husband. The words he’d shouted seemed to glance right off her like water from the backs of ducks. Her mind couldn’t hold them and she wasn’t sure if that was due to how heavy the conversation was or her own confusion.

“Athis, please!” she said, voice carrying over the settled snow and ice that spread itself thin over the side of the mountain. She’d kept her power from the words, and did not let them shake the earth beneath her feet.

He’d made it pretty far before he started shivering. He wheeled on her and trudged back a few paced, face twisted in a scowl.

“I asked you why and you had no good answer for me,” Athis said, voice low and dangerous. “No. You — you refused to answer.”

“It’s not — Athis, I didn’t refuse to answer, you just didn’t like what you were hearing!”

He crossed his arms over his chest, but Nyenna didn’t miss the way his arms were shaking, or how his fists were clenched tight enough to leave marks in his palms.

It was a moment again before he spoke, and when he did, his voice was low with a rage burning in the background. “Why would you forgive him? Forgive that? Why would you allow yourself back into the same chaos you’d left behind?”

“I told you this already. We have to work together. We don’t have a choice.”

“We do have a choice, Nyenna! That’s what you’re not seeing.” He paused and let out a sigh. She watched as shivers began overtaking him. Her own budding rage prevented her from moving to his side to keep him warm as she normally would have. “You don’t need to treat him like some kind of friend — or more. His presence has a purpose, and when that is done, he can go. We can be rid of him and go about our lives as we intended.”

Nyenna ground her teeth and flexed her fingers. Something primal screamed in her head, or deeper still within her bones. Somehow, she managed to ignore it. Her own heart beat furiously in her chest, as if it was itself a dragon, wings beating to help it escape the confines of her ribs. And she was angry. She was, but she knew the reason: Athis was right. She hated to be called foolish in not so many words. He had a point. His pain was valid. But that didn’t mean he knew everything.

He couldn’t know everything. No matter how much she explained the situation, or the danger, he would never grasp it. Not in its entirety.

Good. This is not a life I would wish on anyone. -> Read the rest on AO3!

[mareenavee]

The World on Our Shoulders | Chapter 40: New Roots

Present Day

Riverwood was much as Teldryn remembered it — quaint in a way that soothed an itch in the back of his mind he’d carried for as long as he could remember. It was an echo of all he’d ever wished for as a child: a calm, grounded community set in their ways, where everyone had a place and a function. Neighbors here bustled by, kindness lacing their smiles. Everyone knew everyone else’s names. It wasn’t like that back in the Imperial City, or Blacklight — or even Vvardenfell, no matter where on that rock he’d traveled.

He let out a long exhale, breath fogging in the early morning air as the carriage trundled into the once-tiny insignificant speck of a village — now expanding off of the renewed success of Whiterun like offshoots of various shrubbery. Teldryn had been a city-dweller for a long while, then a mercenary out in the wilds of the world, finding peace under the stars when there was any to be had at all. That Nyenna had suggested settling down here evoked a feeling he didn’t yet have words for.

He smiled down at her — she’d dozed off after they’d all broken camp and helped secure the carriage driver’s supplies in the compartment beneath their feet. The carriage driver pulled the cart around into a larger section of space across from the mill.

“Riverwood!” he shouted, as if everyone didn’t already know. Still, Teldryn grinned. He pulled a few extra Septims out of his pocket and tipped the driver.

Nyenna had begun to stir at the noise, but hadn’t quite woken up. It seemed a dream had pulled her under, taking all of her focus as she slumbered. Teldryn almost didn’t want to wake her, but other passengers were already lining up to pay for passage anywhere else.

“Nyenna?” Teldryn asked. Her eyes snapped open, and not for the first time, he noticed the barest hint of a flash of green as she did so. It faded as quickly as it came. Something churned in the pit of his stomach, but now was not the time to dwell. He knew she suffered nightmares, and he could guess what wormed its way through her mind, always searching. He could question her, or he could fuss, but she wouldn’t be entirely aware of the machinations Mora was working in the background unless He wanted her to. Teldryn had been there before with other Gods over the years — and perhaps was, in a way, still there. He cleared his throat and offered his hand.

She groaned and shook her head, but laced her fingers through his regardless. “Wh-where are we?”

“Riverwood, merdekhes, ” Teldryn said with a chuckle. “You slept through most of the last half of the journey.”

“Oh!” Nyenna said, sitting upright as he pulled her toward him. “I meant to be better company.”

“You both needed your rest,” Teldryn said with a smirk and a nod in her general direction.

She grinned, and the light of it did indeed reach her eyes. -> Read the rest on Ao3!

[mareenavee]

The World on Our Shoulders | Chapter 39: A Path So Far Strayed From

5th of First Seed 4E 202

Teldryn tossed and turned, finding himself unable to sleep. He’d drawn second watch and Nyenna had, some hours ago, woken on her own to take over for him. Her frown had been etched deep, and her eyes betrayed a tiredness that went beyond the interrupted nights out on the road. Something bone-deep — something he knew well, but didn’t have the words to describe. The weight of the world, perhaps, even felt like too small a descriptor.

There was so much he wanted to say to her, but part of him shied from her ability to stare straight through him, gaze piercing his heart. It was as if nothing he could say could make up for what he’d done — that no matter her words, and no matter what had gone on between them, there would be no true forgiveness. And perhaps that was for the best. Geldis had mentioned that there would always be others, not understanding exactly the kind of connection near-death and overwhelming destiny could forge. The more he tried to look elsewhere, however, the more he was drawn right back to her.

That, and the echo of their Magicka reaching out for one another wouldn’t be quieted without drastic measures. That was a problem for another day, however. It would have to be.

He rolled over onto his back and stared up at the peak in the canvas that served as a tent. The bitter wind cut through it like it was incorporeal, or made of Illusion magic, but he’d tucked fire salts into his cloak and had downed another potion of Resist Cold before he’d settled in after his watch. He had a few hours yet before the cold would sink into his skeleton, making his joints ache and reminding him that he’d, in fact, lived a few centuries too long.

No matter how he tried, no matter how comfortable he could make his bedroll, and no matter how warm he could pretend to be, sleep still would not take him. This, of course, was nothing new, and he suspected he’d deal with the insomnia for time out of mind. At least if he was fully awake, he wouldn’t have nightmares or strange dreams filled with the voices of Gods he’d be better off ignoring.

With a sigh, Teldryn sat up, joints popping in his shoulders. A quick glance through the flap of his tent let him see that Nyenna was still sitting by the campfire, swirling the dregs of her tea in the same clay mug that somehow always seemed to survive their travels intact. That there were small comforts like that gave him hope — though, truth be told, it would only carry him so far. The world was a rough place. It had always been, and each decade — or century — seemed to see the whole of Tamriel crumble further into ruin.

That he understood this and could do nothing to slow the decay was a constant source of dismay for him. But if the mug was any indication, not everything was made to break.

Not everything. -> Read the rest on AO3!

[mareenavee]

The World on Our Shoulders | Chapter 38: An All-Too-Brief Silence

1st of First Seed 4E 202

Athis was used to roughing it in the wilds of Skyrim. That’s just how it worked when you went out on assignment with the rest of the Companions. Sleeping under the stars had once been a singular joy — but this Sero character had siphoned off all of that. Athis had replaced what should have been calm with a simmering rage. The smug look on the man’s face was enough to make him want to break that crooked nose of his a second time. He more than deserved it after everything Nyenna had said about what had happened on Solstheim.

And to show up again under the guise of making an apology? What nerve he must have.

Athis had plenty of reasons to hate the man. Sero had tried — and thankfully failed — to turn Nyenna from him. There had been fractures enough, what with the dragon situation and destiny, and Sero had taken advantage of the momentary weakness.

That took a special kind of stupid.

Athis glanced over at Nyenna. He’d taken first watch, and she lay sleeping in their makeshift tent. Sero seemed to be awake, staring up at the stars from his bedroll, thin bit of canvas folded over itself to prop up his head. Athis hadn’t offered him help building a shelter, and, blessedly, the man hadn’t asked. All the swagger from Nyenna’s stories seemed to have melted out of him. He looked ashen and pale, like the gravity of his mistakes had finally caught up with him.

Good. Couldn’t happen to a nicer mercenary.

Athis grimaced to himself and sipped canis root tea — it had been foraged from Sero’s supplies donated to the mutual good of the cause. It reminded him starkly of New Balmora, and while he had a thousand reasons to hate this, too, he was grateful for the shred of nostalgia. It gave him something else to turn his focus to once in a while, rather than nurturing the simmering rage. He was trying to hold it together for Nyenna. She didn’t like dealing with more violence than was strictly necessary — and for whatever reason, she was being civil with this n’wah.

Perhaps that spoke to the kind of person she really was. Maybe she could sense the good in people, even if it was buried way way down. He eyed Sero.

Or create good where there hadn’t been before, and likely still isn’t. -> Read the rest on AO3!

[mareenavee]

The World on Our Shoulders | 37: Like Trees Through Ruins

26th of Sun’s Dawn 4E 202

Nyenna would always be the one that everyone turned to to fix things — she’d more than accepted that by now, however misguided they were about this. She didn’t want the responsibility, if she was being honest with herself. As she knelt by Teldryn Sero, a Healing spell chiming in her hand, she realized it didn’t matter what she wanted, and it likely never had.

She sighed. Teldryn had his own more powerful Healing spells that were perfectly serviceable, but this injury had been Athis’s fault — and part of her felt she had no choice but to clean up the mess. She closed her eyes and focused. Restoration was not so much in her wheelhouse, but she knew enough to sense the break and see where the blood flow could be stanched so it would stop pouring out of Teldryn’s nose.

“Thank you, Nyenna,” Teldryn said, voice softened to the point of insult. He tried to reach out of her, but she shrugged out from underneath his palm and adjusted her pose, continuing to pour Magicka into her spell.

It wasn’t as if his tone or his words would make up for what he’d done, after all. And that expression he wore at her reaction — shock, hurt, confusion — he would have to sit with that. She sniffed and dropped the spell, opting not to indulge his attempts at civility just now. Part of her almost agreed that he deserved what Athis had given him, and more…but she’d had quite enough of unproductive violence for the time being. She could, at least, remain silent and be the hero, and move past this. Be the bigger person, as Farkas would say. -> Read the rest on AO3!

[mareenavee]

The World on Our Shoulders | Chapter 36: The Ghosts of Your Own Mistakes

25th of Sun’s Dawn 4E 202

If there was one thing going for this Godsforsaken province, at least the auroras were nice to glance up at. This one shone green and purple amidst a myriad stars. Something about it was calming — or it would have been if there hadn’t been so much trouble to work through. Teldryn looked back down and prodded at his campfire with a stick, stirring the ashes and sending up sparks. He’d decided to leave Windhelm on foot rather than fighting with the carriage driver for the millionth time — the very same one who seemed to hate Dunmer worse than Ulfric himself did. It was unfortunate. He’d crossed into Whiterun Hold, sure, but it still felt like the city was ages away. He’d walked so far. Farther than he should have, given his haste to leave and resultant lack of supplies. His entire body ached with the effort he’d put into trying to catch up with Nyenna.

Part of him still wished he hadn’t been so stupid. There was a reason he’d let her go, even if it wasn’t quite as thought out as it should have been — or even if he was a bastard about it. And he had been. He knew it. Everyone knew it. He sighed as the stick broke where it had burnt away to charcoal. He tossed the other half into the flames and reached for his mug of canis root tea he’d left on a rock by his knee. At least there was that.

He dug around in his pack for an old map he’d purchased from Revyn before he left Windhelm. If he wasn’t too far off the mark, he’d be right across the river from Whiterun proper after a day of traveling. He could take a slightly longer route and cross in relative safety at Riverwood. He’d always liked that town. Quiet. Peaceful. Nothing chaotic ever happened there. But it would take an extra day at least to then travel back north toward the city.

What does it even matter, you s’wit? A day, a year? She’s not going to forgive you. Not after everything.

His inner thoughts had never been particularly kind, but these days he couldn’t keep a kind word in his skull if it killed him. Riverwood, then. He could at least resupply and stay at the inn there. He’d already sent word ahead to Delvin that after he took care of an errand, he’d be back in Riften. Might as well take on a few jobs while he was here, especially if Nyenna wasn’t about to forgive him. He had to try. He had to. Riften was just a backup plan. She’d have every right to reject him and send him on his way. And he would go. But he had to try and make things right, if he could.

But you can’t and you know it. Why even try?

He sighed again and sipped his tea. Why try? Because it was the right thing to do. To apologize for being the worst version of himself that she’d ever have to see. Hopefully, even if he did have to turn tail and leave immediately, he wouldn’t have to be that person again. Something in the back of his mind itched — like he’d tried to stay true to those words before, and never could quite manage. He wondered for half a moment what Geldis would have had to say about his inner voice and the thoughts which seared through his head these days. He should have said something before he left — though there was little that could be done that he wasn’t already trying to do. He shrugged and downed the rest of his tea. It would be best to settle in, get a little shut eye — if the damned echo would let him rest properly. Maybe the trip tomorrow wouldn’t take as long as he’d estimated. The map Revyn had was rather old, and parts were still incomplete. He’d have to find out.

Teldryn yawned and stretched. He’d set up camp far enough away from the road to not at first be noticeable, but close enough that he could hear if someone left the path in order to investigate the woods. He’d set his tent up on the leeward side of a particularly large boulder, and had burnt his campfire low and small — easy to kick dirt over if he had to conceal his position in a hurry. Traveling alone wasn’t that big of a deal, but it wasn’t without its danger. He knew that well enough by now.

He glanced up one last time, watching the aurora meander across the sky. His breath fogged in the cold and he drew the thin blanket from his bedroll around his shoulders. Yes. It would be better to rest, if he could. He tossed another few branches onto the fire before sprinkling in a pinch of fire salts, then climbed into his tent. He tucked the rest of the pouch into his pack and drew his cloak around him, praying they’d keep him warm enough. -> Read the rest on AO3!

[mareenavee]

The World on Our Shoulders | Chapter 35: I’ll Carry as Much as I Can

Chapter 35: I’ll Carry as Much as I Can

25th of Sun’s Dawn 4E 202

“Do you mean —  Teldryn  Sero?” Nyenna whispered.

“Ah, yeah, that sounds about right. I’d have to rifle through my correspondence in the room below to be sure,” Delphine said, more nonchalant than the woman had any right to be.

Nyenna started looking pale, eyes going distant. Her demeanor was getting more meek by the second. Athis watched as she swayed on her feet, trying to hold it together. He was already pissed off, but his rage swelled like a tidal wave at the mention of that fucking sellsword. As Nyenna said, another ghost. Or he would be in no time at all if he’d anything to say about the situation.

“Absolutely fucking  not,”  Athis growled, marching back over to where Delphine, curse her, and Nyenna stood.

“And what, pray tell, do you think is our other option?” Delphine spat, squaring her shoulders as if to get into a fistfight with him. Wouldn’t that be a treat.

Athis exhaled loudly through his nose. “I will get her there myself. We’ve killed Thalmor before, and we’ll do it again.”

“Absolutely fucking  not,”  Delphine parroted and let out a sarcastic bark of a laugh. “You’re a  liability.  You’ve always  been  a liability — I knew it during that battle with Sahloknir when you turned your back to a  dragon.”  She scowled and prodded him in the sternum. He could have ripped her arm from the socket in that moment, but bit back his temper. Delphine threw her hands up and stalked away from him. “Imagine, trusting you — and then what would we have? A dead Dragonborn, and a world set ablaze.” She huffed and let out a bitter laugh. “As if the world isn’t already on fire.”

“Delphine, Athis is right — I can’t trust Teldryn Sero.”

Nyenna’s voice was firm and as even as she could make it, but heavy with so much sorrow. Athis turned and laced his fingers through hers. She exhaled and let her shoulders drop, tension too much to keep holding on to.

“How do you know that?”

“I hired him when I was in Solstheim. He was the one that saved my life, true — but matters are much more complicated than I’ve been able to properly convey.” She paused and gave Delphine a moment to calm down and circle back to where they were standing, glancing sidelong at her the entire time. “He’s a sellsword and a thief. He had…no interest whatever in my actual safety. He wanted — he wanted more from me than that, and when I refused, he turned on me.” Nyenna hung her head and slid her fingers from Athis’s grasp. “Suffice to say… He can’t be trusted.”

Delphine cursed under her breath. “Brynjolf is part of the Thieves Guild, so yes, you’re right — Sero  would  be a thief. If he’s taken up additional work as a sellsword, that’s his prerogative.” She let out a long, irritated sigh. “You can go with him, and make use of the kind of work he’s really good at, according to my contacts, or you can find all the trouble we’ve been fearing between here and the Thalmor Embassy. I don’t see another option.” She scoffed. “Sorry to say.” -> Read the rest on AO3!

[mareenavee]

The World on Our Shoulders | Chapter 34: Wake Up and See

24th of Sun’s Dawn 4E 202

Nyenna clutched at an ache in her chest. It’d been painful since Windhelm, sharp and stabbing, like her heart was trying to escape from behind her ribs. It felt like a rope was pulled taut, fraying and barely holding on by the last fibers before it might snap. When she closed her eyes, all she could see were the ashen landscapes of Solstheim, viewed from behind the faint warp of chitin lenses like some kind of static impression. The image never moved, except for the slow drifting of ash and the soft lap of waves on the beaches.

She’d visited the temple of Talos before departing the frozen city and saw the healer that had once attended her wounds while Athis was recovering from his injuries. The healer could not sense the echo itself, but noted something was afoot, though not in a way that would threaten her life. She’d been called hale and sent on her way, purse lighter for her trouble.

Something still felt wrong, like once again she’d made a horrible mistake and the further she walked on her own, the more unshakable the misgivings felt. The tug of the echo was sometimes so strong, it would prevent her from sleeping. If she did sleep, it was not restful. She did not find peace in her dreams. Instead, a deep guilt washed over her so heavily, it felt as if she would drown. Part of her mind tried to believe this was not hers — that it was another thing stolen through the echo. The other part knew what she had done, and how far she had drifted. While Teldryn’s behavior was not acceptable, nor were his words, she knew she had not made clear her stance. It did not give him leave to be as egregious as he had been, but it also did not absolve her of blame. She tried to quiet her thoughts on the subject and eased her back against the wooden railing of the cart she sat in, hoping to relieve some of the ache.

In the silence of her travels, all she had was time to think, and that did not help ease the pain. Not that she thought it would. The whole situation was a curse, and more than ever she wished she’d never set foot on that Godsforsaken island. It had been the biggest mistake she’d ever made. As the city walls of Whiterun loomed ahead, all remembering it did was cause her stomach to tie itself in knots.

She didn’t want to know what Athis would think of her. He’d been sweet in his letters, but to talk over exactly had happened in person would be another story — and what a story it was. All things considered, it was for the best to have left Teldryn behind. It didn’t matter what drunken, misguided nonsense fell from his mouth. How he’d acted did not match his words. In the end, they mattered little.

She could not love him back.

He would have found that out sooner or later, and he’d have left anyway as soon as he realized she would not be just — another vessel for his chaos, to put it bluntly. She rubbed her sternum again. Somehow just the thought of all that had gone wrong in the last few days made the ache worse.

She did not know why she dragged her feet after disembarking from the carriage at the stables. The trip from Solstheim had been a long one, and truth be told, she was exhausted. But something held her back. She’d so readily left in the middle of the night all those weeks ago, and now she would happily take an eternity waiting out here in the wind and flurries. Her cloak billowed around her as she looked up at the walls of her city.

Is it…is it still my city after everything? -> Read More on Ao3.

[mareenavee]

The World on Our Shoulders | Chapter 33: Now or Never

19th of Sun’s Dawn 4E 202

No, you don’t need to be on the next ship out of here.

Teldryn stood staring at the docks, back pressed to the ash-scoured stone of the Bulwark. Workers drifted back and forth across the small expanse of grey-brown nothingness, hefting crates stamped with various symbols in preparation for tomorrow’s supply shipment. As the wind had picked up this morning, most had the sense to be wearing goggles made with expensive shatterproof glass, or else helmets fitted with chitin lenses like what he wore now.

Teldryn adjusted the edge of his scarf and made sure it was tucked in enough to prevent himself from breathing in more of the ash than he had to. Pressing a hand to his throat, he swallowed hard against another wave of nausea. He’d been wrestling with his decisions — and the resulting sour stomach — for a week now. At the time, all he had done had felt like the right course of action — to let Nyenna go meant he’d be free to do whatever he wanted, and free to simply let her fade into the background of his awareness.

But no. There was the damned echo, for one, which was almost painful at points, especially when he tried to sleep sober. It was like hooks had been forced into the muscles of his chest and were being tugged by some invisible giant. Sometimes it felt like his sternum would snap clean in half. Times like that, it was as hard to breathe as if she were still here.

He hated that.

What a s’wit you are, Teldryn Sero. You know better.

He should have never accepted the job, even if she turned out to be the Empress of all Tamriel. It was stupid. He was stupid. That hadn’t changed in centuries. He was still the shell of a man stepping off the boat at Seyda Neen in rags with a chip on his shoulder.

Not that he needed forgiveness — Gods knew he didn’t deserve it — but he knew no matter what he did next, he’d likely never earn hers. That stung in ways he couldn’t quite articulate. More than the echo did, that was for sure, and that hurt damn bad.

What have you done?

His feet itched as he glanced out over the ocean. A week ago now, he’d stood on the top level of the Bulwark, much to Hlas’s chagrin, and watched Nyenna’s ship leave, sailing out into the night toward Windhelm. He knew where she was going, of course, but the chances of catching up with her after this long were few and far between. For him to simply show up in Whiterun uninvited would only cause more problems. Not that he couldn’t handle himself. He snorted at the thought of having to fight her husband. It wasn’t the first time he’d imagined the situation.

Regardless, he did want to go after her. He’d wanted to this entire time. He knew as soon as he’d spoken the words that he’d been wrong, but it was too late to take back everything. Perhaps it would always be. Regret was heaviest to carry after the matter, anyway. -> Read the rest on AO3.

[mareenavee]

The World on Our Shoulders | Chapter 32: The Pain Always Comes Back

Additional CW/TW: Substance abuse

Present Day

Athis grit his teeth and pushed his plate away untouched, opting instead to reach for the third bottle of mead for the morning. Food felt impossible to stomach. In his other hand, he crumpled another of Nyenna’s letters, letting it fall to the table like refuse. The irony wasn’t lost on him that these had once brought him so much joy, back when he wasn’t reading between the lines — and if Farkas was able to see what he wasn’t able to, what did that say of him?

No. It’s not that he wasn’t able to. It’d been pure denial, plain and simple. He crumpled another letter, letting it join the rest of them spilling over the tabletop and onto the floor. He downed the rest of his mead, then got up on unsteady feet and stooped to pick up the mess he’d made. Arms full of paper, he wandered over to the hearth and dumped the lot of the letters in, watching each one blacken and curl, the ashes rising with the heat of the fire. It was better this way. If he stashed them away again, then they’d haunt. He had better things to do with his time than think over each word indefinitely.

He looked across the house, its empty, grey image shimmering in the heat. Once, this place had felt like home. These days it felt more like a prison. He heaved a heavy sigh and walked toward the pantry in the back. There was still some wine, which wasn’t his favorite, but it would do in a pinch. Nyenna had been saving it for cooking something or another, but it truly did not matter now. He wandered over to the cupboard, grabbed a tankard, filled it, and sat in his chair by the fire, feeling his mind begin to swim. Part of him knew his behavior was abhorrent, seeing as it wasn’t even noon. This was more like how Farkas might act on any given day. At least Athis was just waiting for the alcohol to take the rage away.

And that — he’d been letting it clatter around in his skull for so long now, he almost forgot what it meant to be carefree. It had been ceaseless worry and self-doubt — too many lonely nights spent crouched in a corner by the hearth, feigning some semblance of warmth. Nothing felt like a good idea anymore — nothing but the silence the mead could grant him. Just a few hours of not having to think straight. Just a few hours of peace. It was all he asked for.

He drained the tankard of wine, but paused before he poured more. His skin was hot — though from rage or embarrassment, he wasn’t sure. Part of his brain still wondered what Nyenna would think. He’d had enough, though, of her judgment from the shadows. She was not here. That was the problem. She wasn’t, and he’d had to get on without her for so long now. He looked up from the bottle of wine on the floor into the shadowed alcove of her alchemy room, whose plants he did not water yet today. He could have sworn he saw her image — a phantom, arms crossed over her chest, elven armor scuffed and glinting in the low light. The scar. The frown. The disappointment. He would never be enough. He’d known it for so long now, and yet he still reached.

No more. -> Read the rest on AO3

[mareenavee]

WIP Whenever~ <3

Hi friends!

So Original Novel Update! My cowriter and I have completely written out beginning, middle and end plans in our outline for our book and we've already got ideas starting for book 2! Last week I was very sick, so I didn't have much besides original to share, but this week I do. Oh I do >:}

Here's a small snip of Chapter 33 of World, below the cut! It's part of a dream sequence <3 Some of you may have seen it already.

Teldryn finished off the mug of sujamma he’d been drinking and set it down with an audible thunk on the sticky wooden table before him.

“Nyenna I — ” he started. She shook her head, and his voice silenced. All that was left was the echo, the one in her chest and the one composed of the sound of her name reverberating off the walls of the hollow tavern. Time seemed to freeze, and only the condensation of her breath as if she was still out in the cold remained behind.

“No, Teldryn,” she whispered. The echo only got stronger, pulling at the inside of her ribs, like her heart was trying to escape. Sharp pain lanced through her. She winced, doubled over and pressed her palm to her chest.

She looked up through ragged breaths. Teldryn had stood, but his form moved in slow motion, as if he fought time itself. His arm moved as if to reach for her, but he would never make it. She wouldn’t allow it.

“Wake up, Nyenna!” she grit out, pain flaring with each word. “Wake up!”

She gasped as pain flared again. Time and space shattered around her as she exhaled through gritted teeth. Teldryn unfroze, moving quickly to her side. He curled an arm around her shoulders, placing his other hand over hers. She tried and failed to shrug him off of her, but found she could not. Her muscles and bones ached with every movement, and somehow she was weaker under what should have felt like care.

She wanted him to go.

Why had he called her?

With a start, she realized he had called her, and blindly she had answered. She wondered if she would ever truly be able to make a different decision here in this place between waking and dreaming.

“It’s okay, Nyenna. I’m here,” Teldryn said. His voice was strained, and though his face was still hidden behind his chitin lenses, Nyenna could tell he could not believe his own words.

Neither of them needed this chaos.

“I don’t want you here,” she growled, once again enduring sharp stabs of pain in her chest with each word. “Let go, Teldryn! Just let go!”

“I can’t,” he said. There was a heaviness to the way he spoke, a strange sorrow that clung to every syllable. The echo was so loud in her ears she couldn’t hear the next words he uttered.

Gods, but would that she could be rid of this connection, she’d have severed it immediately. But no. It still pulled, barbs caught in her heart, impossible to remove without killing her. She let out a frustrated yell, and Teldryn only held her tighter. She tried and failed to thrash away from him, but sank to her knees instead. She had no energy. It was gone, all of it just gone.

[mareenavee]

The World on Our Shoulders: Chapter 31 - To Ashes

** ADDITIONAL CW: Gore, Violence, Death

13th of Sun’s Dawn 4E 202

Athis dodged out of the way as a glass greatsword came crashing down from out of the darkness. He jumped forward and stabbed into a weak spot between armor plates. The Thalmor shrieked and pulled a Heal spell into his hands, sword clattering to the ground. Both sounds echoed down the stone passageways. In the distance, Avulstein was shouting something incomprehensible, answered by the shrill death throes of yet another enemy. He had to move. There was no time to faff around with theatrics. The rest of these n’waah would be converging on them like draugr any second now.

With a sickening crunch, Athis withdrew his sword. The Thalmor scrambled to press the spell into his wound, to no avail. Blood bubbled up out of his mouth as the light left his eyes, guts pooling inside his armor. Athis frowned and flicked the blood off of his sword as the man slumped forward into the mess of his own viscera. A terrible, inhuman howl answered Thalmor screams, which sent a shiver down his spine. Such was the way it had to be, apparently. So much for sneaking.

If Thorald was still alive, he’d be in the dungeons — below ground, the best Athis could wager. Northwatch keep seemed to spiral in a purposefully confusing pattern, not unlike a Nordic tomb, built backwards and lopsided, prone to collapse. He wondered if that was on purpose, meant to keep the doomed from ever finding a way out again. With a quick glance around at the cells, it seemed to be the original intent. There were too many corpses, shattered limbs dangling at odd angles, stored in cells. For what, he didn’t want to know. The Thalmor liked to look proper on the outside, but all he’d ever known of them was darkness and violence.

They’d driven his wife away, after all. Even if that wasn’t the entire truth behind her leaving, it had been enough for him to focus his fury at them. His throat tightened and he grimaced. He’d said it before. He’d strangle the life out of every single one of these bastards with his bare hands if it meant making Skyrim safe for her again. He glanced up at the ceiling once the flash of anger passed, the sound of dragon wings still haunting his waking thoughts. As safe as it could ever be, anyway. -> Read more on Ao3

[mareenavee]

WIP Wednes--whenever. (:

Hello again, friends! Still writing, just not tumblr-ing!

I am ACTUALLY in the prewriting phase with my very, very dear friend and cowriter Jinumon for an Original Novel! I won't share that on here, but progress is phenomenal. We've got thousands of words of notes and POV character fragments down, some side characters planned, tons of worldbuilding and a whole project itinerary planned out. I am very very optimistic here.

I will continue to write fanfic because it brings me a TON of joy! So that said, without further ado -- some of World Chapter 33! 505 words! Mostly below the cut.

The World on Our Shoulders

Fragment of Chapter 33

22nd of Sun’s Dawn 4E 202

Nyenna clutched at an ache in her chest. It’d been painful since Windhelm, sharp and stabbing, like her heart was trying to escape from behind her ribs. It felt like a rope was pulled taut, fraying and barely holding on by the last fibers before it might snap. When she closed her eyes, all she could see were the ashen landscapes of Solstheim, viewed from behind the faint warp of chitin lenses like some kind of static impression. The image never moved, except for the slow drifting of ash and the soft lap of waves on the beaches.

She’d visited the temple of Talos before departing the frozen city and saw the healer that had once attended her wounds while Athis was recovering from his injuries. The healer could not sense the echo itself, but noted something was afoot, though not in a way that would threaten her life. She’d been called hale and sent on her way, purse lighter for her trouble.

Something still felt wrong, like once again she’d made a horrible mistake and the further she walked on her own, the more unshakable the misgivings felt. The tug of the echo was sometimes so strong, it would prevent her from sleeping. If she did sleep, it was not restful. She did not find peace in her dreams. Instead, a deep guilt washed over her so heavily, it felt as if she would drown. Part of her mind tried to believe this was not hers — that it was another thing stolen through the echo. The other part knew what she had done, and how far she had drifted. While Teldryn’s behavior was not acceptable, nor were his words, she knew she had not made clear her stance. It did not give him leave to be as egregious as he had been, but it also did not absolve her of blame. She tried to quiet her thoughts on the subject and eased her back against the wooden railing of the cart she sat in, hoping to relieve some of the ache.

In the silence of her travels, all she had was time to think, and that did not help ease the pain. Not that she thought it would. The whole situation was a curse, and more than ever she wished she’d never set foot on that Godsforsaken island. It had been the biggest mistake she’d ever made. As the city walls of Whiterun loomed ahead, all remembering it did was cause her stomach to tie itself in knots.

She didn’t want to know what Athis would think of her. He’d been sweet in his letters, but to talk over exactly had happened in person would be another story — and what a story it was. All things considered, it was for the best to have left Teldryn behind. It didn’t matter what drunken, misguided nonsense fell from his mouth. How he’d acted did not match his words. In the end, they mattered little.

She did not love him back.

[mareenavee]

WIP Whenever~

Hi Friends <3

I will be switching to simply posting a WIP on Wednesday. If you see this and would like to play along, please always feel free to tag me.

That said, here! Have a small piece of World, Chapter 31. 663 words!

CW: Death, below the cut!

Just before dawn — not quite able to sleep, even if he’d wanted to — Athis shook Avulstein awake for his watch, and that was when all of their hope shattered. Athis watched with bile rising in his throat as Avulstein shook Thorald’s shoulder. His brother had gone still at some point in the night, the shivering stopped, the wheezing silenced, his face pale as the snow that had settled around their campsite. Athis hadn’t noticed. He hadn’t. How? Avulstein began to yell, shaking Thorald harder, but the Nord’s eyes were wide open, collecting ice crystals, and his muscles were locked, frozen in —

Death.

Athis turned his head, unable to shake the image from his mind. Avulstein’s voice faded into the background of his awareness. His stomach churned. Thorald hadn’t made it through the night. It wasn’t unexpected, but seeing someone in such a state was different story. He hadn’t been able to keep moving, and in the end, it didn’t matter. Whether or not they’d have gotten to Northwatch Keep sooner, the Thalmor had already planned on this — the Nord’s death — once they got everything they needed out of him. He was nothing to them, except something from which to extract information, to be tossed away at the earliest convenience.

A new rage burned in Athis, though it was nothing compared to what Avulstein was going through — the sound of his shouting seemed to echo back twofold. Athis’s ears were ringing. Farkas was trying to comfort Avulstein, but his voice came out in fragmented sentences — he was still too shaken from the events of the last day to be coherent. The world seemed to be shifting sideways, and Athis felt dizzy and angry and like he might collapse as he stood on and watched, almost as if he was outside his own body. He wanted to tear his gaze away from the horror of the scene before him, worse almost than the carnage of the keep, but found he couldn’t. Or, maybe, that he shouldn’t, especially as Avulstein’s fury crescendoed and quieted into sobs that wracked the man’s entire body as he knelt there in the snow at his brother’s side. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t. This shouldn’t have had to happen. Athis’s fists clenched, torn, jagged nails digging into the skin of his palms, and as he stared up at the waning image of the moons, he wondered if this was the kind of anger that drove werewolves to change.

Later, when the pyre burnt hot enough that only bits of bone might make it through the blaze, Athis stood shoulder to shoulder with Avulstein and Farkas, noon sun rising high above them. They could not offer their weapons to Thorald, or they would join in him Sovngarde too soon. He would have to go unarmed, relying on the strength of his hands on the other side when he met with Tsun and crossed the bridge. Light bounced off the endless hills of snow, the world silent but for the crackle of flame before them. Athis had gone numb to the smell of burning flesh and hair, instead breathing deep of the still, cold air. Grief wouldn’t strike him now — not while he had to be the one to hold the entire mission together. He had not known Thorald well, but the Gray-Mane clan had been adjacent to the Companions for as long as he’d been in Whiterun, and likely before.

The Nord’s absence had been stark already — a constant worry in the back of Eorlund’s mind that he muttered about while repairing shields and swords for the rest of them. It wasn’t ever just ‘the War’ — never just an abstract thing, as Athis had believed. This was personal, and part of him felt he’d been far too complacent. His place, however, was with the Companions, and that was not about to change, no matter the call to arms Thorald’s death signified, and the kind of chaos that would bring back to Whiterun.