This was it. After today, our fight against the Thalmor would be over. One way or another, we wouldn't have to worry about their forces ever again. Either we would achieve our freedom over the Altmeri oppression, or we'd be laid in a mass grave. A grim perspective on our situation to be sure, but I couldn't imagine another way to think about the coming battle.

As I strapped on my armor, my mind wandered to the myriad of mornings where I suited up for the day's challenges. Gods, how my life had changed over the last fifteen years.

When I had received my first set of armor, it was made out of brittle goat hide. The leather had been cured years before I bought it, and the man who sold it to me laughed when I showed him the fit. He'd laughed because he'd had the armor made for his thirteen-year-old son as a birthday present, only he didn't realize just how fast boys grew at his age. Other than the chest plate, I'd managed to fit into that armor almost like it had been made for me.

Binding my chest had ached almost as badly as getting kicked by a horse, but I dealt with it because I couldn't afford anything new for several more months.

Once I'd managed to acquire enough gold to purchase something much sturdier, I'd grown a few more inches, filled out thanks to my hard life, and come into my own as a woman. By eighteen, I'd commissioned a leather worker in the Pale to manufacture a set of leathers that actually fit me. The brown material was finely handled, the finest piece of leather I'd ever seen in my life. Smooth, flexible, but hardy. The armor was everything I needed and more. It served me well, too, until I lost it when the Imperials captured me and hauled me off to the headsman's block.

Thankfully, when it came time to get something else, the Jarl of Whiterun was more than happy to accommodate me for killing the dragon at the Western Watchtower. He asked me if I needed anything other than the three-times-too-big Stormcloak armor I'd worn when I escaped from Helgen, and I asked for a new set of leathers. I was more than grateful for the armor, and the full set held up for years as I trained to fulfill my destiny, until Odahviing tore it into ribbons right before my pivotal battle.

After that, I'd needed a new body piece, but I decided to hold out until I joined up with the Companions. My patience paid off, and our faithful blacksmith constructed a new cuirass for me. I still had the leathers somewhere, and I'd always planned on passing the armor to Embla should she want it someday.

Assuming my daughter took after me in stature.

"I need help with this last strap," I grunted as I tried to twist my body around to grab the stubborn piece of leather attached to my wolf armor. Somehow, it managed to stay just out of my reach, even though I could feel it with my fingertips. "Vilkas?"

"I'm here, love," chuckled my husband as his big hands pressed around my waist and tugged the defiant strip into place. "Not too tight?"

"No, it's not." When I turned around to face Vilkas, my breath caught in my throat.

My husband always wore his armor around Jorrvaskr, to be prepared in case of a sudden call for aid, but his hair was pulled back away from his face in a low ponytail, and his warpaint had been freshly applied. The dark marks around his eyes couldn't hide the scar beside his eyebrow, the one he'd gotten after the first siege on Whiterun, but the black shapes made his icy gaze look even fiercer. My husband clutched his helm beneath his arm, and his red Companions cape stayed rolled up in the crook of his elbow.

"You look ready for war," I breathed as I pressed myself into his steely chest. "No news from the front?"

"The Thalmor are holding steady." His free hand cupped the back of my head and ran through my curls with practiced ease. "Come with me, love. I have something to add."

"What?" I followed him out of our room and into our private living space.

He motioned for me to sit down in the chair beside the door, and after I'd done as he'd asked, he fetched the small pot of warpaint he must've used just a few moments ago.

"This may be a little cold." My husband dropped to one knee, dipped his gloved fingers into the thick black mixture, and dragged his fingertips across my face in a nonsensical, swirled pattern.

Without a looking glass, I'd have no way to know what he was doing, but I trusted him.

"I believe this to be fitting," he said after he'd finished his drawing, then he got to his feet and retrieved a handheld mirror from one of the nearby shelves.

I took the glass from him and held it up to my face, tears welling in my eyes as I recognized the mark he'd put on my right cheek.

It was the warpaint Kodlak used to wear. The swirling arrowhead stretched across my face from the bottom of my cheekbone to the base of my jaw. The black markings trailed over the jagged scar on my cheek, but the lines didn't hide it all from view. As the paint dried, I held my finger to the side of the marking while I kept my tears from falling.

"I never thought myself worthy of this mark," I said at last once the lump in my throat passed.

"It's more than just Kodlak's mark," explained Vilkas as he took the looking glass from me. "I've done my research on Ysgramor and the Five Hundred. I believe this mark is one they wore into battle against the elves. If there were ever a time for you to bear this mark, it's now."

"We're going to need so many more than Ysgramor and his Five Hundred." I pushed the silver lock of hair away from my face as I got back on my feet. "Vilkas, how are we going to manage this?"

"Fight like Oblivion is on our tail."

"Because it is," I laughed. "I need to go meet with my men."

Vilkas grabbed my hand, leading me out of our room toward the stairs. "We go together, all of us."

Once we got out of the living quarters, we came up the stairs to a wonderous, albeit morbid, sight. Every one of our Companions had assembled around the cold firepit in the middle of the room, dressed to face the hell that awaited us. All of their armor pieces had been oiled and polished until they looked good as new, their weapons hanging from their belts or strung over their backs.

Farkas, like Vilkas and I, had donned the armor that marked our station as members of the Circle, but he wore his helmet with the face plate drawn up to expose his warpainted features. His Skyforge greatsword hung from its strap across his chest, the intricate pommel jutting up from behind his head. For the first time since I'd known him, his countenance lacked the jovial, almost childlike quality. But I knew why he was so somber.

He missed having his wife next to him in this fight.

Aela's fiery hair was loose around her head, intertwined with animal teeth and claws. The Huntress stood proud in her armor, her faithful bow strung in her hand, her shield over her back, and her sword draped on her belt. Her green warpaint striped across her face and made her look even wilder than she already did.

I'd given our last werewolf permission to transform if she thought it necessary, but I'd hoped we didn't need to rely on the Daedra for help in this fight.

The rest of the whelps assembled behind the other members of the Circle like warriors straight from Shor's Hall. Sofie and Eirik stuck close to one another, and Njada and Athis had long since put their petty feuding aside to form a great pair of Shield-Siblings.

We were as ready as we could be.

"Pray to whatever deity you wish," I murmured as I handed Vilkas my helmet and began working my hair into a loose braid. "I would be remiss if I pretended we weren't staring into the Gates of Oblivion, but I refuse to let the Thalmor take my faith from me here and now. They threatened to take my faith fifteen years ago when they killed my parents, but they will never get it."

"Well said, Harbinger!" Eirik cried as he clasped Sofie's hand and raised their fists high.

"It won't be the only motivational speech I have to give," I muttered as I led the way out of Jorrvaskr.

Of all the cruel jokes the gods could play on us today, the sun had to be shining at full brilliance on the day of our reckoning.

As I pushed the doors open, the glaring, early morning light beamed directly onto my face like a jester's spotlight on a stage. The warm air wrapped me in its arms, a gentle, easy breeze gracing across my nose and tugging at the loose hairs around my face. Birds sang in the Gildergreen's branches, bugs darted from flower to flower, and dust particles danced in the sun.

I should've been grateful for the beautiful weather, but without the sound of my children running around my legs, the wonder was lost.

This was it. We made a death march through the city, praying as we passed each house that we'd be able to return to our lives after this battle was over.

It didn't take long for us to reach the front gates, and once we were there, Vilkas and I climbed up to the ramparts to meet with my commanding officers as we stared our reckoning in the face.

Standing on the fortified walls, overlooking the plains below, I could not help but tremble at the sight before me.

The morning sun reflected off the hundreds and hundreds of elves marching to war. Even from this distance, I could almost feel the tremors of their footsteps. Behind their front lines rode their legion of horsemen, and behind them their war machines. Our resistance was beginning to look less and less like an army, and more and more like a thorn in the Thalmor's side.

"We cannot stop that many," said Benor next to me. I glanced at his blanched face, at his white-knuckled grip around his battle-axe.

"Today is the day we all go to Sovngarde," murmured Ralof.

"But we won't go without a fight," I said, laying a hand on Ben's shoulder. "If the elves wish to take this land from us, then they're going to have to slay us all."

I turned, facing the squadrons of soldiers below. Their numbers were packed in the narrow streets leading to the front gates, their heads swiveling around to their neighbors. They danced nervously, looking around and murmuring to themselves. Their fear was everywhere; the air was thick with it.

"Do not be afraid!" I shouted, the crowd silencing as soon as my voice was heard. "Remember yourselves, and remember why you are fighting!

"The harsh lands of Skyrim are not meant for everyone. The ground is hard. The air is cold. The mountains are rough and steep. Life in this land is often short and dangerous. It is certainly not for the faint of heart.

"But the people that call it home are just as tough and strong as the land they claim. We are Skyrim's children. We are her sons and daughters. We till her earth. We tame her beasts. We fight and we die under her moons. We find our strength in her air. Why do we do this? Why are we so willing to fight and die for her, for her rights? Why would we be so eager to go to the grave with our land's name on our lips? Many have asked us this, and what have we said to them? What do we tell our enemies when they ask why we do not surrender?! 'This is our land!' we cry! 'This is our home!'"

I pumped my fist in the air, and everyone below me did the same. "This is our land!" they echoed. "This is our home!"

I let loose my Storm Call Shout, the triumphant Strun, bah QO! ringing through the charged air. The thick and tumultuous clouds rolled in, thunder pealed, and rain poured down on our heads. But my men were not discouraged. They continued to yell their battle cries. No one feared anymore. We were all united.

As the rain continued to dump on our heads, I hopped down from the ramparts to join the wall of men barricading the city. We knew we wouldn't stand a chance in the field, so we could only hope to force them into the tight streets.

"They have no bowmen!" shouted Ralof as our own archers lined up to make the shot over the walls. "We can pick them apart!"

"Give the word, Ralof!" I cried over the sound of thunder rumbling high over our heads. "Steady, men!"

Behind the first waves of soldiers, our archers, joined by Aela and Eirik, formed their lines. They drew back on their bows, the sounds of dozens of strings being pulled taut at the same time creaking through the charged atmosphere. As they'd been trained, the archers angled their arms so that their shots would fire over the walls and strike the unseen enemy once they were in range.

This was the advantage we had over most armies. We trusted one another. Even as civil war had torn our people apart, the cooperation from Imperial forces and Stormcloak rebels had led to an unprecedented alliance among our troops. Even though most of the archers in the line had enlisted in the Imperial Legion during Ulfric's war, they trusted his right-hand Stormcloak to guide their arrows true to the mark.

Heart pounding. Throat tightening. Head spinning.

This is the end.

I'd stared the World-Eater in the face, believing that he would be Tamriel's demise. I fought with every ounce of strength to keep him from destroying my world, and I'd succeeded.

If I did it before, I could do it again. These zealots were no different than Alduin. They only wanted to consume until there was nothing left.

"Hold!" yelled Ralof, sword pointed into the air. The rain pouring down his face plastered his wheat-blond hair to his head, his beard darkening with the moisture. The hard lines of his muscle showed under his skin, and the scars seemed to light up with every flash of lightning overhead.

A purple bolt darted through the air like an arrow loosed from a mighty bow, and a collection of screams rose up as the stink of burnt air wafted over us.

"Lighting's striking the Thalmor!" yelled Benor from his place next to Ralof. "It's going for the catapults!"

The gods were with us. Talos had blessed my Shout to ring true.

Our ranks took a collective breath in, and when I closed my eyes, I could hear our hearts beating as one.

When I opened my eyes, I opened them just in time to watch Ralof drop his arm, bare his teeth, and shout, "FIRE!"

Arrows whistled past our ears as a symphony of bowstrings snapped from release. The air over our heads was thick with wood, metal, and feathers as the shots flew over the walls. The hail of death arced beautifully above us, until their path changed, and the arrows sank down to the earth.

From beyond the wall, I could hear the collective grunts and yells as the arrows fell true. Armor clashed and clattered together, screams and cries rang through the air, and behind me, my men let out a cheer.

"Ready for another volley!" I shouted, looking at the front line facing the gates. "Open our gates! I want to look those traitors in the eyes when they see who they're fighting! Remind them why this is our land! Fight like the true sons and daughters of Skyrim you are!"

"Fight for your home!" bellowed Vilkas. He held his greatsword in his hands, the blade pointing right to the sky as rain dripped down the blade. "Victory or Sovngarde!"

I reached my spare hand to my husband, our fingers intertwining for a moment. This was the fight we went to together. The last time I faced my battles with the world destroyers, I'd been alone. Alduin could only be defeated by the Last Dragonborn, even with the help from the Ancient Tongues. Vilkas had come with me to Solsthiem when I had to defeat Miraak, but he couldn't be in the battle with me. This was the first time he was able to be with me as I faced down my destiny.

I wouldn't stare Oblivion in the face with anyone else by my side.

"I love you, dear one," he whispered. The warpaint on his face had started to run in the rain, but the streaks dripping down his face only made his sharp features look more vicious.

The elves would be right to fear the Master of Arms. He had everything against them, and he was out for blood.

"I love you, too, darling." I smiled at Vilkas, taking a deep breath so I wouldn't spill the truth about our little one growing inside me.

I would just have to survive so I could tell him later.

The troops on the front lines shoved the gates open, backing up a few paces to keep away from the dangerous traps we'd laid for our enemy. Until the Thalmor got closer, we'd have to hold our line like our lives depended on it.

And our lives did depend on it.

The sound of armor clanking together rose to an almost-unbearable volume, the clashing and smashing of moonstone plate-mail bouncing off the stone walls lining the path to the city as the elves advanced. Soon, the glint of their amor became visible around the last corner, and the hellbent faces of the Altmer stared our army down with a sharp, golden gaze.

And riding on a black steed in the midst of the first wave of soldiers sat the Aldermi bitch herself. Her head was still half-shaven, and the scars along her ear and cheek reflected in the lightning streaking through the clouds above.

My blood ran cold, my hands shook, but I set my jaw. She wouldn't scare me anymore. She had no power over me or the rest of Skyrim.

"Light it up!" I yelled, motioning for Ralof to blow the horn to retreat deeper into the city. With the Thalmor spilling into our ranks, their weapons beating against shields, we needed to trigger the traps before it was too late.

The oil in the moat in front of the gate was lit by a flaming arrow, and the soldiers in the front of the Thalmor forces wailed as their skin caught fire underneath their armor.

The flames wouldn't hold them for long. We had to be ready for the vicious battle to come.

Elenwen used her steed to leap over the screaming Thalmor burning alive in the moat, her golden sword pointed straight at me. "Rally to me! Kill these dogs!"

"Victory or Sovngarde!" bellowed Farkas, leading the charge to meet the oncoming elven fray.

The noise erupted like a mountain blowing its top. Steel banging against armor and shields, men and women shouting, screaming, wailing. Bodies dropped. Blood spilled. Thunder rumbled overhead like war drums straight from Shor's Hall.

Rain dripped into my eyes, but that didn't stop me from putting my blade through any Thalmor who got in my way. At my back, Vilkas took down his own foes with a swing of his mighty sword and a growl.

The chaos around us only got worse as more and more elves spilled into the city. The gates became a bottleneck to funnel our enemy through, but the Aldmeri Dominion agents had begun to split our forces off into manageable groups. Packs of soldiers branched off, deeper into Whiterun, to do battle with the elven invaders.

I couldn't see Elenwen, but I didn't worry about her at the moment. We'd meet again before the day was over. I had to focus on taking down as many of her men as I could.

The odds were stacked against us.

As Vilkas and I fought our way through the golden ranks, our swords bloodied, our muscles sore, and our heads clouded by adrenaline, we headed over to the group of former Stormcloaks to offer them assistance. Ralof led their small squadron against the Thalmor forces, but the numbers kept pouring in.

"Fus, ro DAH!" I Shouted, sending many of the soldiers bowling over like leaves in an autumn breeze. I bought our group some time, but we'd be right in the middle of a nasty fight before long.

"The lightning storm seems to have kept the Thalmor away from their catapults!" reported Ralof as he wiped his axe clean on his blue sash. "The gods are on our side!"

"I certainly hope so," rumbled Vilkas, pushing his damp hair out of his face. Try as he might, the leather cord wrapped around his dark locks couldn't hold the strands back."

"How many have you killed?" asked Farkas while he bumped into his twin brother.

Vilkas grinned. "Twelve so far."

"Ha! I'm winning! I've killed fourteen!"

"Twenty," I laughed, patting them both on the shoulder. "Now come on, we've got more to kill."

"Vilkas sure does, if he wants to win!" My brother-in-law winked at us, and then he split away from us to head into another group that needed his help.

Or he was ensuring he'd be able to get more Thalmor before we could.

The golden-plated army pushed us deeper into the streets, taking us past Warmaiden's, the Drunken Huntsman, and even into the marketplace. Vilkas and I led the retreat deeper into the city, fighting more of the enemy along the way. The narrow paths, barricades, and stony outcroppings would make the terrain more difficult for the Thalmor to navigate, but we still had to fight like hell if we wanted to win this war. The elves outnumbered us, and no amount of terrain advantage would protect us if we allowed ourselves to slip up.

The streets only got narrower as bodies began to drop. Thalmor and our forces alike painted the buildings and cobbles with their blood. A thick, crimson muck gathered on our boots as we trotted through the streets. The mortar between the cobbles would be surely stained for years to come.

"Did Tyra tell you what we're going to name our baby?" asked Farkas as we met back with him in the midst of the fray. How he could think about baby names at a time like this, I'd never know.

"Yes," I replied. "She mentioned the names, but I don't remember what they were."

"We're going to name him Kensley!" My brother-in-law had such a wicked grin on his face, I almost laughed. As though the assurance that he was going to have another son had given him an edge in battle.

Maybe thinking about his wife and their unborn child would make things easier for him.

"I'm off to help Aela!" Farkas shoved his blade through two unsuspecting soldiers, then kicked their bodies off his blade and headed out in search of our Shield Siblings.

Vilkas and I were back-to-back, slashing and hacking at anyone who dared to get too close. We made a great team, as always, but I'd forgotten just how well we worked together in battle. Our arms moved in perfect time with one another, our legs sweeping out to find footholds in the streets. We ducked, dodged, and parried blows for one another, as though we truly had become one flesh.

How I'd lived most of my life without him, I'd never know. I spent nearly a decade without him as I ventured through Skyrim as a mercenary for hire, but being his wife for the last seven years was my greatest accomplishment. Being his wife, and the mother to our children. When I died, that would be what I'd take to Shor when I once again stood in front of the doors into his Hall.

But before I could relish in having his company, Vilkas was gone. I had no idea if the Thalmor had managed to worm their way in between us, or if he'd heard or seen someone who needed his aid. Regardless, I was by myself, with a hoard of Thalmor agents enclosing around me. I had to fight with everything I had.

The army worked me through the marketplace, up the stairs, and into the Wind District. There, beneath the bowers of the Gildergreen, I struck hard and fast and with everything I had.

Maybe Farkas had the right idea, thinking of his family in a time like this. Focusing on returning to my children gave me the fire to keep swinging. The spark in my belly flared like an inferno, and whatever strength I had left in me flowed through my limbs. Like a cup of warm mead, I felt my adrenaline pumping through my veins.

I had my second wind.

Fighting alone, I spun on my heels, slashing at any agent who threatened to get too close. I hacked indiscriminately, looking only for the sheen of golden armor whenever I struck a blow. Without my husband or his brother to watch my back, I had to be careful not to allow myself to become overwhelmed, but with all the fighting, all the noise and chaos, it didn't take long for one of the Altmer to make a dirty play.

When the pommel of a heavy sword struck the back of my head, my knees faltered. If it weren't a matter of life and death, I would've thought the image of me kneeling before the shrine of Talos to be fitting. As I scrambled to find my sword, a black and gold boot kicked it out of my reach. Then, the owner of the boot knelt down to retrieve my sword before leveling her golden blade and my own to my neck.

Elenwen got what she wanted. Me, on my knees.

"You finally learned your place," she sneered, the sounds of battle continuing around us. Not even her own soldiers thought to stand still and watch the events unfold.

I spat a mixture of saliva and sweat at her feet, the sting of steel and moonstone cutting into my throat. "I'm not going to beg for my life. I didn't beg in your prison, and I'm sure as Oblivion not going to beg now."

"I expected nothing less." She drove the edges of the swords further into my neck, and a thin stream of blood trickled down my throat. "Time to put you down like the dog you are."

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and readied myself to wake up in Sovngarde.

The kiss of metal on my neck stung as the blades cut deeper into my flesh, but a sharp yell caused Elenwen to stop short. She gasped, a heavy thud struck the cobbles, and the swords fell from around my neck.

I flung my eyes open to see Vilkas standing over me, his greatsword bloodied, his lips bent into a snarl.

And his foot planted firmly on the headless corpse of Elenwen.

"You won't take her from me, bitch," he growled, spitting a wad of saliva on her body.

"Vilkas!" I flung myself at him, wrapped my arms around him, and took deep, shuddering breaths while I tried to work through what just happened.

Elenwen was dead. We had won.

I knew what I had to do. Letting go of my husband, I knelt down, picked up Elenwen's severed head by the hair, and climbed to the foot of the statue of Talos. I raised the head high above my own, tilted my face to the sky, and let out an almighty Shout of, "Lok, vah KOOR!"

The storm over our heads ceased its roar, and soon, the sun broke through the black clouds to shine on the battle-torn streets below. Around me, the soldiers on both sides stopped fighting, turning their faces in astonishment and fear toward me.

"Victory!" I shouted as I held Elenwen's head even higher. The blood from the stump that used to be her neck dripped down my arm and covered my face. I must've been quite a sight to the Thalmor agents. The Dragonborn, covered in the blood of their leader, staring them down with our victory assured.

"Victory!" my soldiers echoed, banging their shields and waving their swords. "Victory! Skyrim belongs to us!"

I was thankful no one said "Nords." This fight was more than just a Nord struggle. We had won, at the cost of more than just Nord lives. For a moment, I took in the blood and gore around me. Bodies from both sides littered the streets, making it impossible to see just how many either army had lost. I couldn't think about the sobering task of cleaning up the bodies just now, though. I had a surrender to negotiate.

"Lay down your arms," I ordered the surrounding Thalmor soldiers. "Who is your next in command?"

"Tyernil Salingian," uttered a nearby woman as she knelt down to drop her sword on the ground. "He will be back with our war machines."

"Ralof!" I nodded toward the blond man as he approached. "Take a squadron and find this Salingian. Bring him back to Dragonsreach to negotiate a surrender."

The rest of my soldiers split off to begin the task of taking the Thalmor soldiers into captivity. Once the enemy had been subdued, we could focus on the task of gathering up the bodies.

"Ylva!" cried Vilkas as I came down from the statue. He enveloped me in his arms, nuzzling his face into the side of my bloody neck. "By the gods, we've done it."

"One battle," I panted, squeezing him with all my might. "It only took one battle."

"Your parents can be at peace." He pulled back, kissed my forehead, and wrapped me in his embrace once more.

Yes. Finally, all of us can be at peace.