When the Dovahkiin died, there was no end of the world. But it felt like one to Serana.
The sky did not split apart, the cosmos did not shudder, and the divines did not spare a wink of shock or rage. There was nothing.
Well, there was something.
There was a funeral. A great pyre held at the Skyforge, attended by jarls, friends, Companions new and old, and even some that Serana could not place.
The clouds did not break for the falling of a hero, they did not weep and wash the world anew for the sin of taking her away. But Serana did cry, she did weep, she did scream and curse and throw herself at the walls like a woman gone mad, ranting and raving to any that would listen to her mead fueled ramblings. Serana most certainly broke.
She had lived--
How many years, now? How many had passed before meeting Kahleeh? How many years did they spend together, traveling the world? How many years did Serana continue living after her friend’s passing?
She couldn’t recall. Perhaps it was for the better.
Serana visited the monument dedicated to Kahleeh every year. Once at the least, thrice at the most. The journey was long and hard, made harder still by having to pass through locations they had camped at together, had made memories together in, had fought and cried at, only to whisper apologies moments later and make jokes about their hearts having more control than their brains. It was too much at times. But she still went.
She would camp at the monument. It felt less lonely to be there, to wake up and see the statue of the smiling Dragonborn, her battleaxe of old raised high above her head in a heroic pose. Serana would talk to the monument of Kahleeh for hours at a time, telling it everything and anything that crossed her mind. Getting no response back hurt, she could admit, but bottling everything up hurt tenfold more.
“Kahleeh,” Serana said one night. Secunda and Masser casted a beautiful light over the area, allowing the ancient vampire to see the statue without hindrance. Like it mattered either way with her undead abilities. “You have been gone for such a long time now. I feel it only appropriate to tell you this, as the chance escaped me when you were alive. I was far too much of a coward to confess back then. But I…”
Serana gulped, letting her head drop in defeat. Even now, she couldn’t admit to her feelings, and the one person she had cared for in such a manner wasn’t even alive to judge her for it. She wasn’t even alive to hear it.
“I cared for you, Kahleeh.”
The words came out slowly, halted by her nerves and fears. What did she have to fear? The statue coming alive suddenly, mocking her for having never said anything before it was too late?
Tears came without restraint. Serana sniffled and rubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand. Unable to take the weight of her thoughts, the once noblewoman collapsed to her knees and allowed the emotions to drown her. She didn’t have the energy to stop them, to defend her heart from their clawing roots.
“Oh, Kahleeh-”
Her voice broke out into a strangled wail. Balling her fists together, Serana slammed them down into the earth in rage. In pain.
“I loved you! I loved you, I loved you, I love you! And now you aren’t here to love me back. You would love me, wouldn’t you, Kahleeh? You always said you would be there, so why aren’t you here now?”
Serana knew why. She hadn’t been there to protect the Dovahkiin, hadn’t seen the blade coming down on her friend in time to do anything.
Kahleeh, always one to put others first, told Serana to heal up.
“They are coming without mercy,” She said, her voice exhausted and bitter. “I can hold them. I need you to be safe, Serana. I need you alive.”
Would she have been so stupidly selfless if she had known what would happen? Would things have turned out the same way, with Serana alive and Kahleeh dead?
Did she know that those would be some of the last words to ever leave her mouth?
“Serana,” Kahleeh called out weakly, weaker than before. The sword was stuck in deep, reaching through her chest and poking out harshly against the decrepit floor. Serana held the Dragonborn with gentle, shaking hands. She was crying. Her tears mixed with the blood of her friend. Gods, there was so much blood. “Serana, I need- I need you to go to Whiterun. Tell Lucia that I love her, that I didn’t mean for this-”
She coughed up blood, her lungs giving a disgustingly loud rattle at the effort. While the majority of the crimson fluid landed in her gloved hand, some of it managed to stain Serana’s cheek.
“-To happen. And Serana?”
Her voice broken, trembling as much as her hands, the vampire gave a weak answer.
“Yes, Kahleeh?”
“I want you to know something. You were the reason I kept fighting, the reason I made it this far.”
A slow intake of breath. She was struggling so hard, her eyes already dimming in color. It wouldn’t be long now. The Nord opened her mouth, keeping it open as she fought to find her words.
“I love…”
Silence.
A dreadful silence.
Then, an anguished, hysterical scream.
Serana carried the slain hero’s body back to Whiterun. She was the one to lay the corpse of her best friend on the logs settled within the Skyforge. She was the last one to leave.
Crawling slowly towards the statue, Serana would speak once more.
“Wherever you are,” She turned her back to the memorial, leaning against it. Her head fell back a moment later, coming to a halt due to the support of the statue’s armored boot. “I hope you can still hear me.”
Letting her gaze drift upwards, the vampire gave a weak smile at the sight of the statue’s carved face.
“May we meet again. In this life or Sovngarde.”