Two days had passed since the cleansing of the sunken barrow.
Morthal was slowly changing. The eerie blue lights no longer danced over the northern swamps. Livestock stopped vanishing, and the unnatural chill in the air had eased. Yet most townsfolk still gave them wary, skeptical glances rather than gratitude.
An old fisherman approached them hesitantly in the market, clutching his cap.
"You the ones who went north that night?" he asked quietly.
I nodded. "We are."
The old man looked down. "Lost my son near those ruins two years ago… Last night I dreamt of golden fire burning in the dark. Woke up feeling like a weight had been lifted." He gave a small, awkward bow. "Don't know if it was really you, but… thank you."
He shuffled away quickly before we could reply.
Meridia watched him leave with a pleased smirk. "At least one mortal isn't completely blind. The rest remain annoyingly stubborn."
"You're enjoying their slow realization a bit too much," I said, nudging her.
"Hmph. They should be on their knees thanking me." She flicked her golden hair. "But small steps are acceptable… for now."
Later that evening, back in our room at the Moorside Inn, I started packing my gear while Meridia lounged elegantly on the bed.
"So," I asked, "what's next? We've done what we came here for."
Meridia was quiet for a moment, then spoke with clear decision.
"We should head to Whiterun."
I paused mid-fold. "Whiterun? That's quite a journey from here."
"Exactly." She sat up gracefully. "It is the heart of Skyrim. Central, well-connected, and currently neutral in the civil war. A good place to observe the brewing conflicts and strengthen your reputation. Besides…" She gave me a sidelong glance. "I sense something stirring near there. The dragons have been quiet for too long."
I nodded. "Makes sense. Plus, it'll be nice to see a city that isn't sinking into a swamp."
Meridia stood and walked over to me. She stopped close, her presence warm and commanding.
"You are growing stronger, champion. But you still need proper recognition. Whiterun will be a suitable stage for you to shine." She poked my chest. "And I will not allow you to be distracted by bold women again like in Solitude."
I caught her hand with a grin. "Still jealous, Princess?"
"I am not jealous," she huffed, though she didn't pull her hand away. "I am simply… protective of my investment. You belong to me. I will not share."
Her golden eyes softened slightly as she stepped even closer.
"Besides," she added quietly, "this mortal form is becoming… tolerable when I am near you. I see no reason to return to Oblivion just yet."
I smiled and gently pulled her into a loose embrace. "I'm glad you're staying."
Meridia made a small, indignant sound but rested her head against my shoulder. "Do not get used to such open affection, fisherman. This is merely a reward for your service in the barrow."
"Best reward I've ever gotten," I murmured.
She flicked my forehead lightly, but there was a faint blush on her cheeks and a small smile on her lips.
...
The next morning, we left Morthal behind.
As we rode south along the muddy roads, Meridia sat behind me on the horse again, her arms wrapped around my waist. The journey to Whiterun would take several days, but with her presence and the warmth of her power, the road felt far less daunting.
"Try not to embarrass me in Whiterun," she said near my ear, voice carrying her usual arrogance. "I expect my champion to conduct himself with at least some dignity."
I laughed. "I'll do my best, Princess. No promises though."
She pinched my side. "Insolent worm."
Despite her words, her arms tightened around me a little more.
The swamps gradually gave way to forests, then rolling plains. Skyrim stretched out before us — vast, dangerous, and full of possibilities.
Whatever waited in Whiterun, we would face it together.
One arrogant Daedric Princess and her chosen champion.