Losing

I probably won the prize for Most Annoying Roommate that night. Tossing and turning wasn't enough; I had to frequently burst into tears with my face buried in a pillow. There was only one bed in that cubbyhole of a room, and we all tacitly decided that the Redguard woman should get it. She protested, we insisted; she asked if we were sure, we threw her into it. Not literally; the poor woman had been through enough. Building myself a blanket and pillow nest in a corner, I assumed a fetal position and pretty much cried all night.

Beginning with the cry baby's lament of why can't he just be a normal, boring guy, I went over every moment we'd been together. I remembered facial expressions I'd been too clueless to consciously notice, words he'd spoken, tone, inflection... I revisited and relived every second. Except the naughty parts – this was serious.

Mauronk told me there were 'expectations he didn't want to live up to.' Was this one of those 'expectations'? That as long as he was getting paid, he should shut up and just do it? Did his epiphany strike him, then he confronted the Jarl? Did something rude get thrown in his face? And I still didn't know why he was there on the border of Skyrim and whatever the fuck is south of it to begin with. Whatever, he was close enough to be transported to convenient Helgen. The fact that I didn't have a clue why I was there either didn't even enter into it.

Maybe that's what he meant, about trying to leave. Did he have unfinished business after... what happened? Did he try to make peace with someone and wasn't able to? I didn't know him well enough to even guess. I wanted to believe that he tried to undo the harm, or lessen it. He sought out the survivors and apologized. He donated, I don't know, clothes and shit to a Forsworn orphanage or something. Anything.

Then I drifted into he just can't be an evil bastard territory, recalling how he recognized immediately what was going on in that room, and did his best to stop it as soon as he could. He went to the Redguard woman first. He spoke kindly to all the women. He only got shitty with the Khajiit because that stupid, horny tomcat wasn't too anxious to embrace the truth.

I tried to hate Mauronk for what he'd done, I really did. Even without qualifying every statement with 'but he's got a nice dick,' I just couldn't hate him. I knew just enough about him that I couldn't dismiss him from my life without a fight. I couldn't say to myself, 'He done you wrong, girl. Kick his ass to the curb.' He didn't do me wrong. He'd always been... somewhat straight with me. What he did was obviously something that changed his life. Triggered an epiphany. Freaked him right out. Scared him straight. He faced an inner demon, a hate so fierce he lost touch with that honor Orsimer are so damned obsessed with. Faced it, and beat it.

Remembering it made him cry. Big, tough, manly Mauronk, brought to tears. Maybe I'm not the brightest light in the cupboard, but I could tell he wasn't putting on a show for my benefit; he was genuinely devastated by that event, moreso by having to recall it.

Maybe what he used to be was a pig. But I didn't know him then. I met him after he'd gotten his shit together. After he realized he was on the wrong path. After he decided to walk in the right direction. Maybe he was meant to walk right into my arms, or some other sentimental bullshit thing like that. You never know with local deities; they could have your whole life planned out, or just get a kick out of winding you up and letting you go.

The fact of the matter was, I didn't want to take another step without him, because somewhere along the line, I fell in love. I guess I didn't want to accept it until this happened, and the prospect of leaving him was on the table. But there it was: I wanted to work this out, help him get through it, get over it, get past it. I wanted to be at his side, encouraging and supporting him. Do whatever it took to make things right between us, and between him and the victims, if that was even a possibility now.

By the time morning came, I was tired but firm in my decision. The Dunmer noticed something different about me – probably the dry eyes and non-runny nose – and frowned a little.

"Are you well?" she asked. "Your night was... restless." There's an understatement.

"I'm fine," I told her sincerely. "I know you think he's... But I know he isn't. Not anymore."

She nodded. "It would seem so. I would call you fool, but... perhaps... he needs you."

"I certainly need him."

"Very well," she conceded. "I hope he is... worthy of your love. I confess, what I know of him – second-hand, I grant you – does not imply worthiness. But if you believe in your heart that he is a good man..."

"He is," I insisted. "I believe it."

"It is understandable," the Argonian chimed in. "There is not much I can see in a human's expression, less in a mer, but in your reaction and your tears, I could not help but see great love. Disappointed and betrayed, but great. I also hope he is worthy of it."

Well, that was a surprise. Did I wear a damn sign? I only realized how I felt, like, an hour ago, and these ladies both pegged it before we went to bed last night, apparently.

"I think he is," I said staunchly. "We have a mission to attend to, so... we ought to get going." My stomach growled loudly all of a sudden. Half-smiling with sheepish embarrassment, I added, "After breakfast."

"Indeed," the Dunmer chuckled. Offering a hand to the Redguard, who seemed to have decided that less talk would enable her to catch the nearest wagon out of town without lengthy, heartfelt good-byes, the Dunmer led the way into the common room.

Evidently, the boys either slept worse than us, or were earlier risers. The Imperial, the Nord, and Dar'Zher were already tucking into grits or something at separate tables. Already dismissing one another from their circle of friends, it looked like. I didn't see Mauronk, and wondered if he was still in their room. I kind of wished I'd stayed in bed too; I barely slept, and wasn't entirely 'with it' myself. Then the innkeeper called us over.

"Which of you is Thane Danni?" he asked. There was a folded parchment in his hand. My first thought was that Jarl Balgruuf was checking up on me, and I rolled my eyes. Keep your shorts on, dude.

"That's me," I grumbled, and took the note from his hand. The Dunmer accompanied me to the bar and began ordering food. When I read the first line, my knees gave way, and I slumped to the floor with a strangled cry.

Beloved Danni,

You will think me a coward, and a liar. I would be otherwise, if I could. I was a fool to believe in dreams, however sweet and longed-for. I was a fool to believe my shameful deeds would remain dead and buried, that they would not rise up and cause you pain. I was a greater fool for hoping something as foul as I deserved someone as kind and good as you. I was not lying to you – I love you. Heart and soul, I love you. But you should have a man of honor at your side, and I am not that man. I cannot apologize enough for what I was, nor for the promise I made that I must now break. I do not leave you lightly, or without regret. If the worst has happened, and I have left an abomination within you, I will not blame you for ridding yourself of it. I did not have the right – not to bed you, certainly not to claim you. Yet I took all you offered, and gave you nothing that was good enough in return.

I do not ask for your forgiveness. I cannot ask for something I should not be given.

Mauronk gro-Rogdul

I had to read it a few times, and each time through my heart hammered harder, and my breaths came in quicker gasps. I didn't register that the Dunmer had abandoned breakfast ordering and had pulled me into her arms. I didn't realize she'd taken the note from my hand. I couldn't see, I was crying so hard; couldn't breathe through the gagging and choking.

He was gone. Mauronk was gone. I think I suffered a collapse; when I came to my senses and could breathe again, I was in a bed with a cold, damp cloth over my swollen, burning eyes. Someone I couldn't see was holding my hand and humming to herself with a raspy sort of voice. Somehow, I knew it was the Argonian, and thought dimly that she decided to stay in town after all. Reaching up with a shaking hand, I lifted the cloth and blinked my eyes into focus.

"Hush now," the Argonian said softly, patting the back of my hand. "All will be well in time."

"Please...," I begged thickly, "tell me I dreamed it. Please?"

She glanced over her shoulder as the Dunmer entered the room, her face grave. "You should rest," she advised, taking a seat on the edge of the bed beside the Argonian.

"He's really gone, isn't he?" I whimpered, looking from one to the other, hoping they'd tell me otherwise. The Dunmer laid a sympathetic hand on my leg.

"The Imperial told me that he only stayed an hour," she informed me. "Long enough to write his letter to you. He said it took several tries, and not a few tears." A little half smile that didn't look remotely amused – more like bewildered – quirked her lips. "He was surprised to see an Orsimer weep. I confess, I cannot imagine such a thing either. Regardless, he left during the night; no one saw what direction he took."

I stared at the wall for at least a minute, my mind blank, numb, like a blasted landscape. My heart hurt, my gut hurt. I only breathed because somewhere deep inside, my body knew it had to.

"How could he leave me?" I whispered. "What did I do wrong?"

"You did nothing wrong," the Dunmer insisted firmly. "I confess, I read his letter to you. I thought perhaps... Well, to be honest, I did not realize it was from him. I apologize for prying, but the contents of the letter sent you to the floor. I could not stand idly by..."

"It's... it's okay," I muttered. A wave of misery assaulted me suddenly, and I covered my eyes and cried. Both women spoke soothing nonsense in low voices, like they were at my deathbed. I heard the Imperial's voice, discretely asking if there was anything we needed. The Dunmer asked for a pitcher of cold water. Out of left field and completely unimportant in the grand scheme of things, I asked, "Where's the Redguard?"

"Safely on her way home," the Argonian replied. "A wagon left shortly after the letter... It was bound for Whiterun. The Nord and the Redguard took their opportunity. The Khajiit... well, he hasn't any money to travel."

"The last I saw of Dar'Zher was at breakfast, an hour ago," the Imperial supplied, then paused. After a moment, he spoke again, his voice subdued. "I am sorry, madam, for your... your loss. I asked him if... if it was wise, leaving you alone in a strange city. He said... you were a strong woman, and would find friends to help you. He said... you did not need someone like him... ruining you." Looking away uncomfortably, he added, "It would seem... his claims were a lie after all."

I winced and shook my head vigorously. "No," I sobbed, sitting up and clumsily wiping away the tears. I remembered what he said in the letter, about leaving an abomination behind, and I bent over clutching my stomach. Gods, did he think that? Did he really believe something made by us would be that horrible, that it would 'ruin' me? Or did he assume I would think so? Given how uncomfortable he was about our racial differences, that was probably the case.

Then I got angry. How dare he abandon me in this town with a bunch of strangers? Embracing fury, I growled through clenched teeth, "No, he didn't lie. We were lovers. We still are, as far as I'm concerned. I promise you, I am going to find him and kick his ass. He is my fucking housecarl; he's not getting away that easily."

The Dunmer smirked appreciatively. "There you are. You shall be as the Scourge of Malacath, ensuring he stands by his sworn oath. May the Prince grant you His strength."

"Thank you, I think," I replied a little uncertainly. I was more interested in being the Spanking Paddle of Vengeance, after what he did. Whatever, the important thing was that I could breathe again. I had a plan. Well, a goal. Maybe not a plan yet, but definitely a goal.

"If you require assistance," the Dunmer offered a little awkwardly, "I am... at loose ends for the moment. Perhaps..."

"Yes," I blurted, practically leaping into her lap. In a manner of speaking. "I have to tell you, I am completely and totally lame. He was... my guard and..." My throat closed, and I had to stop before the water works got going again.

"It would be... rude of me to leave you to your fates," the Imperial sighed. "If you require a sword, you may count on mine."

I sort of blinked stupidly at them both, then glanced at the Argonian to see if she was going to volunteer as well. She bowed her head.

"Apologies that I must go," she murmured. "The cold... It is very difficult..."

"That's fine," I interrupted, grabbing her hand. "You've been a real peach, honestly. I'm glad you stayed as long as you did. I hope you don't have to wait long for another wagon." Throwing caution, and probably local customs, to the wind, I threw my arms around her and gave her a big hug. "You've helped me so much. Thank you."

She chuckled throatily and patted my back, then drew back to... smile, I guess. Hard telling. Then her head jerked up straight and she started pivoting it back and forth as if she could hear or smell something strange.

"What is...?" she began, then the rafters rattled hard, as if a jumbo jet just crop-dusted overhead. A muffled roar soared past, getting quieter with distance.

"Dragon," I blurted, my eyes going wide. I shouldn't have been surprised; I swear to god, every time I fast-traveled anywhere, a dragon was waiting for me. Without fail. This one must have missed the alert on its smartphone, announcing my impending arrival. Better late than never, I guess.

"You jest," the Imperial scoffed half-heartedly from the doorway. He looked shocked, uncertain, hopeful that I was pulling his leg. Sorry, man – I am totally not shitting you.

I leaped from the bed and rifled my belongs for bow and quiver, then bolted out the door without a backwards glance. Was I feeling a little reckless? You betcha. And maybe I still had some lingering feelings of helplessness and frustration needing an extremely large and scaly outlet right about now.

The inn was filling up with folks wearing shocked looks on their faces, and I had to chuckle in a graveside humor kind of way. Yes, the first place you want to hide from a fire-breathing dragon is inside the large wooden building. Good plan. Second only to parks department outhouses as a fool-proof means of escaping dragon and dinosaur attacks.

Once outside, I got hit in the chest with the bitter cold; a blast of wind struck me hard and stole my breath away. I briefly had a worried thought that Mauronk went out in the middle of this kind of weather – would he be warm enough? – before I had to shut that shit down so I could operate. Just thinking about him... A lump rose in my throat and I felt the sting of fresh tears freezing on my eyeballs. Not pleasant. The dragon's roar thundered above the town as it circled, and I was dimly aware of the Dunmer and the Imperial running out into the street with me.

Was it wrong of me that I was secretly hoping they'd hit it off and live happily ever after? Probably. Dammit, if I can't have a happy ending, someone better get one.

Reminding myself that my happy ending was just a determined search and pimp-slap away, I drew an arrow and got it ready.

"By the Nine," the Dunmer breathed in shocked awe. Shaking her head in denial, she just stared, speechless, as the dragon swooped low, then beat its great wings back to halt its momentum. It descended on the roof of the Jarl's longhouse, not far from the inn.

Drawing his sword, the Imperial grimly advanced with the other guards. I pulled back the string on my bow and let loose my first arrow... which miraculously sailed over the heads of the guards and hit the uppermost story of the longhouse a good ten yards from the nearest dragon part.

Close enough.

Shaken from her stupor by my lame archery skills, the Dunmer readied one of her horse-cart-sized fireballs just as the dragon unleashed frosty hell on the hapless guards on the ground. One of them caught in the center of the blast froze solid instantly; a follow up shout shattered him into a million pieces. I peed my pants a little.

Evidently, though, a frost-breathing dragon doesn't hold up well to fireballs so big you can build a house on them. It protested mightily when the flames engulfed it, then lurched clumsily upward, beating its wings hard to get back in the sky.

"Nail it again!" I told the Dunmer as I sent another arrow sailing ineffectually over the inn's roof. Before the dragon could flap those wings hard enough to lift its heavy ass in the air, it received another fireball to the face.

It didn't like that one damn bit. Screaming bloody murder, the singed dragon rose up high, looped around, then did a strafing run down the main street. Guardsmen scattered, diving for cover as a huge blast of frost hit the ground and ran like a cutting torch down the center of the town.

Because the odds were in my favor when my target was within a few yards, I managed to actually hit the damn dragon as it flew past. I would have jumped for joy if the stupid arrow had actually gone in and stuck there. Thank the gods for the Dunmer; she let it have a fireball enema once it was past.

A few swoops through the gauntlet of the Dunmer's fireballs and the guardsmen's arrow attacks finally brought the dragon to the ground, and the Imperial was able to earn his stripes. He also got a wing swipe across the chest that sent him flying into a building. Since I wasn't doing any good, I ran to his side without really thinking that he might be dead. Luckily, his armor was well-made and his landing only somewhat hard as frozen timber; a musty stack of hay caught most of his body on the rebound.

"Are you all right?" I asked quickly as I helped him sit up. He coughed a few times and rubbed his chest.

"Yes, I am... I am well enough," he gasped. Looking out at the battle, he shook his head. "I can barely believe... it is real. Where did it come from?"

"You don't know? Oh, of course you don't," I grumped. The game made it seem like there was a fiber optic network providing news feeds to every household in Skyrim. I promise you, five minutes after Helgen fell, you could hop a wagon to Winterhold, be there in seconds, and they'd already know about the attack. It was weird realizing that hey, if someone doesn't haul their ass cross-country, ain't nobody knowin' about them dragons taking a dump on random villages.

Then the Imperial started to get up, using the wall behind him as a support. Taking a few deep breaths – which made me think of that fight Mauronk and I got into, where he was struck by a warhammer and... stop thinking about him, Danni – he readied his weapon and charged back in.

The first thing he did was pull the Dunmer away from where the dragon was about to swing its head around. She was concentrating on another blast, her hands out and glowing with bright orange fire, and didn't know the dragon's breath attack was coming around for her.

I didn't want to be the one lame-ass in town who didn't get a piece of that dragon. Nocking another arrow, I rose up and set my feet firmly, then let loose. The arrow went wide of what I was aiming at – its head – and cut through a wing membrane. The dragon did not find this amusing at all, on top of all the other annoyances it was putting up with, and shouted at me.

It might have been that first shout you pick up, the knock-em-on-their-ass, fus shout, because I got hit with a sledgehammer force in the chest and flew backwards into a snowberry bush. In addition to having the wind knocked out of me, I had to endure the embarrassment of being covered in berry juice that would probably stain my leather armor in a most unattractive way.

Eventually, the compounded interest of twenty guardsmen, a mage, and an experienced swordsman all took their toll, and the dragon slumped to the ground with a groaning hiss. Just to make damn sure it was dead, a pair of guards drove swords through the dragon's body in the heart region.

I was numb once again. I last fought a dragon with Mauronk. He held me up when I didn't think I could stand for another minute. He stood by my side before the Jarl of Whiterun. He agreed to be my housecarl. He hoped... he'd be worthy of me...

Drawing a shuddering breath, I tried not to cry right there in the middle of the town. Folks were coming out of the houses, shaken and staring at the giant corpse in awe. I had the crazy thought that someone was going to have a hell of a mess to clean up, when I heard someone gasp.

"What is happening?" a voice cried, and the murmurs of wonder turned into screams of terror. I honestly didn't know which way to look: up? down? Was another dragon spotted? I had no idea. Then I realized the corpse was glowing. I must have crapped myself sideways.

"Nobody move!" I roared, throwing my arms wide. As if I held the answers, everyone obeyed instantly. I scanned the crowd as the dragon's flesh ignited. Then the golden tendrils of its soul rose like smoke from the flames, and began to search.

I tried to follow them, but the light they were giving off was too bright. Like, a hundred times brighter than in the game. In spite of my command, a few people backed up as the tendrils snaked toward them.

"Stop moving! Everyone just stand still!" I cried. Then the tendrils seemed to have found their mark, and rushed at the Chosen Hero Who Will Save All of Tamriel. I sagged. My shoulders slumped in disbelief. Like I hadn't already endured the torments of hell today, now I had to put up with a cowardly, alcoholic Dragonborn.

The dragon's soul sank into a bewildered, teetering, nauseous-looking Dar'Zher.