Kerrianne lay on the small cot in the border hospital, dying of a festering shoulder wound. Her once thick red hair, matted to her forehead with fever sweat. The healers hadn't told her she was dying, but she knew. She had started hallucinating two days ago. Like the monk, slowly making his way up the aisle between the cots. He was dressed a little better than the others, stood a little taller. His face was hidden by the deep cowl of his robe and she couldn't see his hands for his sleeves. Kerianne was sure he wasn't real as no one else in the tent reacted to his presence. He paused beside her bed before speaking.
"Hello Kerianne." he said softly as he sat beside her. Kerianne gasped, nobody had caller by name in twelve years. Not since Martin had turned himself into a dragon and sacrificed everything to save the world. Not since Kerianne had lost her position as the Fighters Guildmaster when it was discovered she was also the Listener for the Dark Brotherhood.
"Martin?" she tentatively asked. The monk slid his cowl back far enough to reveal his face to her, the face of a man she had been proud to call friend. He gently took her hand.
"Yes, i am Martin, but I am also Akatosh. "
Kerianne softly began crying as she realized what was happening.
"I have come to take you with me, for aiding me in defeating Mehrune."
"Will it hurt?"
"No, not really."
"I'm ready to go then."
Martin/Akatosh stroked his thumb over the back of Kerianne's hand and her eyes closed as her heart stopped. Akatosh gently lifted her weary soul from her body. Cradling it to his chest like a beloved child, He faded from sight.
Lagertha lay on a bed in the back room of the Cistern. Her body broken beyond repair. She had, of all the ways to go, fallen down a small mountain while riding Arvak. A hunter had found the blonde Nord near Riften and brought her in. Delvin had claimed her and had a healer in the guild's employ bring her down to the Cistern.
"Lagertha. Lagertha, my Nightingale." a soft voice with an echo to it called her. Lagertha slowly cracked open one green eye. Nocturnal stood at the end of the bed, a raven on her shoulder and another on the bed post. "I've come to see our contract fulfilled. It's time for you to join me in the sepulcher."
Lagertha blinked and suddenly Nocturnal stood beside her. "I am going to amend our contract. Something I have never done. I will keep you for one hundred years, then release you to Sovengarde. To wait in the Hall till you are needed again."
Nocturnal gently caressed a hand down one of Lagertha's bloody cheeks. Her mind filled with images, of a red haired women in a border hospital, then a dark elf male being visited by a woman with stars in her hair. As those images and more faded, Lagertha knew she had died five times before this, to be reincarnated when Tamriel needed a champion.
"I understand." Lagertha croaked as a tear slid down her cheek. Nocturnal took her hand and they disappeared in a snap-flash of purple light. They reappeared in the Ebonmere, where Brynjolf's specter stepped from the shadows.
Nocturnal smiled at the pair. "Teach her the ways." Then she left.
Lagertha took the hand of her friend who had preceded her by two years and together they faded into the shadows.