#also i am making up dragon grammer (<- its literally so clearly based on latin (a language i do speak))

[incorrectskyrimquotes]

The Thalmor have taken The Rift, Falkreath, and The Reach

Their strategy is becoming obvious. They're hoping to encircle Skyrim and close in on her. It comes to light though that instead of Solitude, they plan to march on Whiterun next. Word of this blazes through Skyrim, and everyone prepares for the battle of their lives.

Eryn is mostly healed by this point, and can move and fight again. Even after waking up, she had to take some more time to recover and heal. And Thieves Guild had been more than helpful and generous (something she finds amusingly ironic). But when she hears Whiterun is next, she decides whether or not she's ready is irrelevant. She has to be ready.

In Whiterun, Ulfric is preparing as best he can. The Thalmor were spotted marching towards the city, some of them on giant birds of all things. Rocs typically don't belong in Skyrim, the cold being too much for the delicate wings, but the Thalmor have decided to not take any chances. With the three holds they have under their "control" all actively trying to rebel and disrupt, they've decided to become even more brutal in their tactics.

Ralof and Hadvar are leading the defense. Many former imperial soldiers had decided to fight under the banner for Skyrim. It's not about Ulfric, it's not about the Stormcloaks, it's about defending their homeland. They both invoke a silent prayer for, at the very least, Whiterun's safety. Neither of them pray to the gods, though. Hadvar asks Rikke's spirit to please watch over them, and Ralof asks Eryn's spirit to be right there when he dies. So he can at least see her again.

Only one of their prayers is heard and answered.

The Thalmor attack. The battle is bloody and messy and brutal and dark. Their mages have called upon storms, trying obscure the battlefield. But the defense is strong, too. It seems almost every capable warrior who could answer the call has, and is pushing the Thalmor back.

One particular Thalmor is on a Frost Roc, carefully weaving through the raging sky. He rains down ice and electricity onto every poor soul under him, his great bird screeching as he does so. But the echo of the cry returns... wrong.

Ralof looks up. "Dragon." He says simply, knowing that noise by heart. He tries to find the beast in the clouds, seeing only shadows of wings. He doesn't see what the dragon is carrying. But he does see the brilliant flash of purple. The bird seems to stumble, falling backwards before righting itself, barely missing the ground.

"That's the last thing we need." Ulfric grumbles, before giving a heavy sigh.

In the clouds, a different conversation is going on.

"This is it, Durnehviir."

"Geh, Qahnaarin. Dilon daar nuz." (Yes, Vanquisher. But this is dangerous (dilon literally translating into "fatal".))

"Oh, I know." Eryn slowly stands up from her position on his neck, even with the undead being still soaring through the air. "But what are we gonna do? Die again?" For the first time in months, since waking up, she actually smiles. She looks up at the storming sky. "Lok vah koor!"

The clouds dissipate, the rain fades in the air, the battlefield is left illuminated by the brilliant blue of the sky. And everyone now has a clearer look at the dragon... and he's not like any other dragon anyone has ever seen.

"That's like if a draugr fucked a dragon." Galmar spits, taking the blade of his axe from the face of a battlemage.

"Eloquent as always, my friend." Ulfric replies with a bit of laugh, sending some poor Thalmor flying into another.

"I know that dragon." Ralof whispers, staring up at it. "That's... That's hers."

A small figure suddenly comes flying off of the undead, sickly dragon. The person has jumped from dragon, directly onto the thalmor frost roc, deciding to fight the rider up close. The bird spins around, trying to shake her off. The woman only ends up clinging on, but throws the rider to the ground, allowing him to fall to his death. She then runs her elven rapier, the red glow shining even from the sky, through the bird's skull. As the bird goes down, she becomes translucent.

She lands on the ground, just seconds before the effect seems to wear off. But she doesn't even seem tired, nor hurt, she's as alive as she's ever been.

Even in the middle of battle, of war, almost everyone seems to freeze. She's dead, she's supposed to be dead. Scouts from all sides had reported on her being dead, even with her body being absent from the site of her demise. She looks back at them.

She could have made a snappy, witty comment. Something like "Sorry I'm late" or "Started without me?", but she can't. She's silent as she locks eyes with Ralof, tears streaming down his face. And then he runs at her.

She catches him, but they both collapse to the ground in a combined mess of sorrow and joy and relief and fear. They cling onto each other, both absolutely terrified the other will fade away if they let go.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." Eryn whispers, she can't even imagine what she put him through. "I'm sorry, I'm right here, I'm sorry, I-"

"Don't apologize, don't ever apologize for being alive." Ralof sobs back, holding onto her impossibly tighter. "Just stay, stay with me, please. Don't ever leave me again, don't ever go where I can't follow. Even if this is a dream, just stay with me."

"Always, forever." She pulls back, just so they can see each other's faces, both awash with endless tears. He simply nods, and she pulls him back in, holding him as close as she can. She looks up at the people now surrounding the two of them, trying to give her and her husband space, but also overjoyed that Eryn is alive.

"Hadvar..." Eryn whispers, his presence surprising her the most.

He smiles at her, and kneels down, putting a hand on Ralof to offer his own comfort. "Someone had to look after this one while you were gone." Slowly, she and Hadvar both help Ralof back to his feet, and he finally seems able to let go over her. Though he never takes his eyes off of her.

"Eryn!" Of all the people Eryn had expected to be tackled by after coming back to life, it wasn't Galmar. Galmar Stone-Fist lifts her up in a huge bear hug... and it's kind of hurting. A lot.

"Great to see you too, Galmar," She wheezes out. "But you're gonna rebreak my ribs if you don't put me down!" After he does so, she gasps in a bit.

"You're alive." Eryn looks up to see Ulfric Stormcloak crying... it's only two small streaks, he's not outright sobbing as Ralof had been, but he's clearly also quite happy to see her. "Thank the divines. You're alive."

Eryn wants to respond to the overwhelming love she's being shown, to now seeing these people after so long, but the sound of war snaps her out of the moment. She turns to face the war, Redwing gripped tight in her right hand, a swirl of flames in her left.

She doesn't say anything, nothing heroic or funny or determined. As she always does, as she always has, she simply rushes into the battle, and fights with the knowledge that Skyrim depends on her.