#yol toor shul moment

[yewphoric]

D O V A H K I I N

Yol.. Toor... Shul!

[aladaylessecondblog]

Faal Hah Wuld, ch. 15

Status: Active (Capture or Kill), High Priority, Abrogator Level Approval

Torovan has only recently become a target, but dealing with him is vital. His knowledge of ancient magics and expertise on Dwemeri affairs are considered valuable, but to what degree his power has receded is unclear. Where he has been since the events leading to his initial death are unclear - until five years ago, whereupon he was discovered to be travelling with the nord Sigurd.

Captain's Note: Yes, THAT Sigurd

The pair have dispatched multiple kill teams so DO NOT APPROACH with anything less than a full complement.

Status: Active (Kill Only), High Priority, Abrogator Level Approval

The dragonborn Sadrith is a known subversive, wanted for multiple incidents in the Thalmor Embassy, and has been shown to support the Stormcloak Rebellion despite outwardly showing no inclination to join either side of the war. Linked to the Thieves Guild and the Blades. Her ongoing existence is a threat to our operations in Skyrim and the sooner we may be rid of her, the better.

Captain's Note: Given she is a Dunmer, there may be additional danger in the situation given Torovan's involvement. Don't be a fool.

--------------------------------

Fighting the Thalmor had been easier than even Sadrith had expected.

As she loosed the arrow she Shouted, "KRII LUN AUS!" and watched with a grin as the sound caused her target to turn just in time to take the arrow in the eye.

Torovan rushed forward beside her, spells charged in his hands, and blasted the soldier that approached him. She turned toward the third member of the group and drew out her dagger.

He spat at her and rage carried her forward, dodging his blows and slashing at his throat like a madwoman. When he pulled back she smirked, and Shouted again. "YOL TOOR SHUL!"

Fire burst from her lips, and she rushed forward to start cutting again. The Thalmor soldier died screaming, but the moment he was down she was rifling through his pockets.

Torovan was standing up from the now limp body of the Thalmor soldier before him, and moved back in her direction.

"We need to get moving."

"Right, right, I was just checking them for notes. Usually when assassins or thugs are sent after me there's something left behind..."

"You get assassins sent after you very often? Did you upset the Dark Brotherhood, perhaps?"

"Oh, yes, of course," Sadrith said, finally finding a few notes and opening them to read. "I wiped out one of their sanctuaries, though, and I haven't heard anything of them since...it's mainly been want-to-be bandits and the like since."

"An entire--"

She looked over the notes, though, and anything Torovan might have been saying was less interesting and therefore only half heard. Something about being too reckless for her own good.

The notes had quite a bit in them that answered some questions but gave her far more to think on. Expertise in Dwemeri affairs? Initial death? Perhaps he was some sort of scholar dedicated to looking through the Dwemer ruins in Vvardenfell after ash covered them. It had to be dangerous to look through such places now, even more so than before. But then came mention of Sigurd... that Sigurd. Something was tickling in her mind. Yes, he was the Archmage of the College of Winterhold, but she knew she'd heard Sigurd's name somewhere, frequently. She knew it but didn't remember why.

And who was this Abrogator? The last time she'd seen information like this it had been marked 'Emissary Level Approval'...which meant Elenwen, or at least she assumed so.

That was another mystery. She'd never seen the word before...then there was her own note. Kill only. Oh, the joy, to be in the same club that Delphine was in. They'd probably found out about Northwatch Keep somehow or the other--maybe the Gray-mane what's-his-name had been recaptured and somehow let the information out. Or that nord soldier she'd saved, or maybe someone really HAD seen her when she'd killed that Thalmor prisoner escort she released him from. Or--

Torovan leaned suddenly over her shoulder, and read the letter.

"What's this mean, the embassy business?"

"I got in to get some information on the dragons' return, and a few soldiers didn't care for my being there. Someone figured the Thalmor might know something, and I went to all that trouble only to find out that they didn't know a damned thing. Didn't the others have these notes?"

"No," he shook his head.

Sadrith handed him the note with his name. "Seems you rate capture-or-kill. Whatever you know must be valuable...and it seems like they know exactly who you are..."

Torovan paused, and his one good eye stared down at her as if waiting for something. After a long pause he spoke again.

"You seem to make more trouble than I was first told," he said, "The Dark Brotherhood, the Thalmor...the Thieves Guild...the Stormcloaks..."

"The dragons," Sadrith replied. "What's your point?"

"The point is that you are foolish, reckless, and Sigurd should NEVER have--how you ever earned a reputation for discretion is beyond me. What a talented liar you are, to maintain such an image despite the utter chaos you seem to create."

If Sigurd knew how utterly useless I am he'd never have chosen me to begin with, Sadrith thought, before moving on.

She took a deep breath. It didn't help, it never did. All she could do was distract herself before she felt it.

"Fine," she snapped, "Fine, I'm a beacon of chaos, the best liar in Tamriel, the doom drum itself - the truth is out! What are you going to do next? Should I give you the amulet so you can go back to Winterhold, or are you going to close your mouth and follow me?"

Torovan seemed to be stricken silent, and said nothing else to her until after they'd checked the bodies for arrows and weapons.

"You should be careful of claiming such things," his voice was tense, but at least more even than before. "The doom drum is not a thing to invoke lightly, and you never know if your words may turn out to be true."

"Alduin was the doom drum," Sadrith waved a hand absently, "And I killed him."

She still wondered what in oblivion the Thalmor were after him for, but he wasn't going to answer any of those questions so there wasn't any point in asking him. He wasn't going to kill her, that was the important part.

The horses, while spooked, responded readily enough to Torovan's calming spell. There had been a lengthy absence when he left to get them, but he brought them into the front room just as Sadrith was remembering the mark on the pauldrons of the soldiers.

She scribbled the symbol on a piece of paper and then stood. "I've never seen this mark on any of them before. A crowned bird."

"No?"

"Maybe these are just higher ups from outside Skyrim," she said, "I don't remember seeing it even in the Embassy, but that was a while ago."

Something beneath her skin practically snarled at the sight of that symbol, though, a hatred stirred that didn't want to let up, a feeling not her own. She tried to distract herself by thinking who might know the symbol--but the only person who came to mind was Delphine, and the hatred she felt then definitely was her own.

She stood, ignoring it, and left with Torovan.

"The notes said they had friends..."

"Taken care of," he replied, "And left for the crows."

---------------------------------------

"Miss Sadrith!" Lucia was the first to speak to them when they crossed the bridge into the village, and rushed forward with a smile on her face. "You're back!"

"I told you I would be...I'm sorry it's been so long. Are you still doing well?"

"Yeah...Mr. Valerius says I have a good head for numbers, but keeping track of all the things in a shop is hard...but he's letting me grow things too, so that's nice."

"And still being overprotective?"

"Of course. Now that Camilla's gone and got married to Orgnar--"

"ORGNAR?" Sadrith burst out in surprise. "When did THAT happen? I thought for sure she'd take Sven or Faendal."

"A few months ago. Somebody found out Sven and Faendal were writing terrible notes about each other and...she said she was done with both of them! Then she wasn't seeing anyone, and she went to the Sleeping Giant a lot, and..."

"And Orgnar was there to hear her drown her sorrows, I imagine. He never seemed the romantic type." Sadrith said. "But maybe she likes the strong silent type."

"I better go," Lucia said, "But it was nice talking to you!"

"And who was that?" Torovan asked, once the girl was gone.

"She used to be a beggar in Whiterun. Her...family threw her out when her mother died. I could've taken her to Riften I suppose, but..." Sadrith shook her head. "Lucan, the shopkeeper she was talking about, and Camilla, his sister - they had a bit of a fight after she broke it off with both those men she was seeing. I pretended not to know about it but - listen, the point is, I found her a home with Lucan. Man's got no interest in marrying, but he wanted a family of sorts, so...I brought the girl here."

"A strange level of effort for a child unrelated to you. Commendable, I suppose, despite that she's not of our kind."

"All people are my kind. Now let's head to the blacksmith and have the horseshoes checked...maybe restock on some arrows. Would be nice to stop for a bath at the inn, but I'm thinking a meal would be a good idea regardless. Save some of what we're carrying...and maybe see if they've got a black pudding or two for you."

Torovan made a strange noise of acknowledgement in his throat, almost like a growl, but didn't respond.

[ebon-scourge-of-skyrim]

“WE HAVE YOU SURROUNDED, SCOURGE! GIVE UP!”

The moons Masser and Secunda were at their fullest, bathing the clearing in muted light, enough to see fairly well. Girvosi stood, surrounded by what must have been at least a couple dozen bandits. Perhaps more, among the trees. It was hard to say at this point.

She’d been expecting it for a while, honestly. Raze a few bandit dens to the ground and you’re bound to piss off some of them. The Dunmer was more shocked it took them this long to organize an ambush on her.

“You’ve had your fun long enough, Scourge! We’re gonna take your head and put an end to your myth!” one of the bandits, a big Orc, pounded his chest. “People say there’s no body under that armor. Only a soul. I intend to prove them wrong!”

Girvosi (or as the outlaws knew her, the Ebon Scourge) calmly drew her blade, the flame enchantment crackling to life. “What people say about me is no concern of mine,” she replied, “but if you wish to rush headlong to your deaths, I will oblige you.”

“HA! Big talk for someone caught in an ambush! We’ve been preparing for you, Scourge! We know all about your fire magic!”

“Is that so?” Girvosi took a relaxed stance, “So you’ve taken precautions against my magic. Smart. Tell me, though…”

Slowly, she looked around. “Did you also account for dragon fire?”

The leader paused. “…that’s…you’re bluffing! She’s bluffing! She can’t possibly stop all of us! GET HER!”

The bandits charged forward, weapons drawn, and Girvosi turned her attention to the group directly in front of her. Taking a deep breath, she spoke the words.

“YOL…TOOR…SHUL!”

A massive fireball burst forth in front of her, incinerating everything in its path, including the bandits. Several charred corpses fell to the ground, causing the rest of the charge to skid to a stop.

“THE THU’UM! It’s the Thu’um!”

“It can’t be…Dragonborn?!”

She turned her attention back to the leader, who looked horrified. Yet he managed to muster up some bravado, roaring. “WE OUTNUMBER HER! SHE CAN’T STOP US ALL!”

Casting a flame cloak spell upon herself, Girvosi got to work, wielding both spell and sword to cut down each bandit. They were already shaken, and poorly organized. It didn’t take long to thin their numbers. The remaining attackers were much more wary, hesitant to approach.

The leader growled. “Damned useless…FINE! I’ll do it myself!” Wielding a hefty battle axe, he charged.

Girvosi was more careful with him; he was the ringleader for a reason, after all, and she made a habit of not underestimating her opposition. She would have to wait for an opening with this one.

The clash of weapons rang through the air, and the Ebon Scourge watched her opponent. He was clearly getting tired, and more careless.

There.

Dodging his swing, Girvosi thrust her sword forward, piercing his chest. His eyes went wide, and he dropped his axe is shock, blood trickling out of his mouth.

“It will take far more than this to kill me,” she replied coolly, “but I will grant you; you came closer than most. For this, I grant you a warrior’s death; no magic. Just a blade.”

Pulling her blade out of his chest, she spun and slashed at his neck, taking his head off in a single stroke.

Any bandits that remained fled almost immediately, running for their lives after witnessing their leader fall.

Girvosi took a moment, breathing in deeply. It was unlikely that they would try anything like this in the near future. Sheathing her sword, she made her way through the woods, looking for a decent spot to set up camp for the night.

[kettlequills]

Chapter 1: waking dreams: master of fate

Miraak is victorious against the Last Dragonborn at the Summit of Apocrypha, and reclaims his rightful place as ruler of Solstheim. However, the world he wakes to is not the one he left behind thousands of years ago. When the certainty Miraak once relied on is questioned, will he be able to adapt to this new world and the people within in time to prevent the destruction of all he has worked for? On A03 here.

Tags and tws: Blood and graphic violence, major death, mind control, Apocrypha, Mora.

“And so the First Dragonborn meets the Last Dragonborn at the summit of Apocrypha. No doubt just as Hermaeus Mora intended.” Miraak’s words rang out bold and proud over the inky seas that surrounded his lonely tower.

He stood, gleaming and glowing, every inch the Dragon Priest he had been, unchanged and preserved in time like a moth behind glass, since Hermaeus Mora’s theft of him from his rightful place at the helm of Tamriel. He kept his back straight and his shoulders tall, let his voice thunder with echoes, and he looked down upon the Last Dragonborn fearsomely-masked, staff in hand. His show, his pride, his excitement, was for his benefit, and theirs, and the dragons that watched them, silent and monumental in this battle of the ages.

Sahrotaar, Relonikiv, Kruziikrel. His companions, his servants, through his torment – and now, the witnesses of his triumph.

As they would all witness!

“The hour of my freedom from this place and its fickle master draws near!” Miraak cried exultantly, fought to remind himself it was for moments more premature, “and soon I will be master of my own fate, once again. My time in Apocrypha is over. And soon, so will be yours.”

Hermaeus Mora’s thousand-fold eyes were unseen in the sickly green sky, but Miraak knew he was there. If he peered over the sheer edge to that liquid darkness, he knew he’d see Seekers clustered like crows, with their ragged cloaks like tattered wings tugged by no current save that of Fate and Mora’s will in airless Apocrypha. In the waters themselves, he would see Lurkers bleeding oil with steady pulses that sat upon the ink in fiery shimmers. Even the constant muttering of rustling pages hissed and whispered amongst themselves, as if placing bets. He heard the riotous wet slap of the ink against the base of the tower, the tentacles beneath squirming like blind worms to the light, and Miraak knew the whole of Apocrypha was watching.

In the tautness of the near-silence, his dragon- and man-heart stuttered in its restless anticipation, cried with each pounding beat the hope of a thousand years’ work swift-coming culmination: soon, soon.

Steady and sure, the Last Dragonborn that returned his gaze. Even now, on the eve of his victory, he drank in the sight; how he had craved the presence of another as the years worn on in his lonely imprisonment.

The air seemed easier to breathe scented by the freshness of Nirn they carried in their lungs, and their arms, their armour, were richly coloured, the most vibrant thing in this world of nightmare and books. No pallid greens or inkblushed blues for them, this Dragonborn wore handsome red and burnished steel. They were solid, made strong by the grain and meat of Skyrim, by the grape and grass of their sun-dazzled, Aedric-blessed life outside this cursed realm. Even now, their form was faint to his eyes, anchored to their real body on Nirn. As he soon would be real, and subject to the pressures of the wind and the rain, the sun and sky, once more.

They were no simple Seeker of Mora’s knowledge, this Dragonborn, with their well-worn sword held sure in their grip and their scratched shield in the other, no, they came to Miraak in the armaments of a warrior, the trappings of an empire Miraak had seen in illustrations. Their skin was browned by sun, their dark eyes watchful and shadowed beneath the owl-face of their wood mask.

Such cheap imitation though their mask was, he scoffed internally, of the mighty artefact they would have been gifted had they walked in Miraak’s time – but no, the men of this new age were weak and stumbling, and remembered not what they ought. No matter, though, he thought, and felt his lips twist to bare his teeth unseen, Miraak would teach them.

“You will die here, by my hand,” Miraak continued, promised, “And with the power of your soul, I will enact my glorious return to Solstheim.”

Unaffected, or perhaps he dared to hope, sparked by this threat, the Last Dragonborn rolled their shoulders with a metallic grinding and extended one gauntlet. They beckoned to him insouciantly, and their feet slid apart to a fighting stance, ready to leap in any direction.

“No words for me, Dragonborn?” Miraak taunted, too eager to let this fated confrontation end without a moment to savour its richness upon his tongue, and the Last Dragonborn growled.

“You waste your breath,” they said, in their raw, untrained Voice of thunder, “Better to beg the name of the one who will be victorious: I am LAAT-AAZ-IN!”

“A strong name,” Miraak allowed, grinning savagely under his mask as their Shout rocked the tower beneath them, shivers of that power in the soles of his boots, “You could have been mighty, if fate had decreed otherwise, Slayer of Alduin.”

“Might is unnecessary to win against a man who only talks.” Laataazin nettled at his pride, but though their weapon was held ready they waited for him to speak first, as the elder of the two of them. The note of respect for Miraak was beyond what he had expected – the Greybeards it seemed had bothered to teach their rare pupil some things. Miraak burned to know what else.

“Is that so?” Miraak murmured, and he could not hold back anymore, mortal words were soft as snow in his mouth and he needed fire. “YOL TOOR SHUL!”

It was a mighty greeting, and Laataazin’s wide eyes vanished behind their shield. The plume of fire was brilliant and blinding-bright, and through it, Laataazin charged fearlessly at him. Blinking smoke from his eyes and too slow to leap aside, Miraak swept his staff across his chest. Their shield, glowing white-hot at the edges, smashed into him like a battering ram. The staff clanged hollowly at the brute impact.

They wrestled there at the summit. It was hot work. The thinner parts of Laataazin’s armour were molten and spark-bright, the flames that licked at the fabrics of their tabard smoking relentlessly. Miraak drove his heels into the soft leathery floor, refusing to back down even as he felt his staff begin to creak ominously and his muscles scream. Kruziikrel snarled – Miraak heard the snap of jaws, one of the other dragons harrying it. Sahrotaar? Laataazin had flown it to the summit. Their eyes burned in the firelight through the mask, behind the shield, glimpses of brown shimmering orange. Miraak met those fire-bright eyes, and saw in them a soul that mirrored his own.

Inexorably, Laataazin pushed him back.

Miraak gritted his teeth as he was forced back one step, then another. He had the height advantage, towering clear, he could see their skin bubbling and scalding under their armour at the intense heat, but Laataazin was strong. Cracks raced like fault-lines up his staff, and he had moments – moments, before it shattered in his grip.

They would disarm him? So be it!

He gave a giant shove, and Laataazin’s shield dipped as they staggered. He seized the opportunity and at once Miraak discharged all the magic in the staff. It exploded with a thunderous boom and crack of searing white light.

Miraak was blown clear, rolling quickly to his feet with visions of Laataazin planting their sword in his spine. He squinted around his arms protecting his head from the shrapnel flying everywhere, and hissed.

Laataazin had gone to one knee, but as he stared, they shrugged off the explosion and rose to their feet. Their mask had shattered on their face, and they swiped their metal-clad arm over the wreckage. Fresh blood splattered free from the splinters driven into the flesh of their face, but Laataazin did not pause a moment before raising their head to look for Miraak. Threateningly, their shoulders rolled back, their neck arched, and Miraak had just enough presence of mind to throw up a ward before Laataazin Shouted.

“YOL TOOR SHUL!”

His ward was battered by the strength of their fire, but held. Over the roar of the dragon-fire, Miraak could hear his actual dragons thrumming warmly in approval. Miraak’s fierce joy welled like a song in his heart. Laataazin’s Thu’um was strong, nearly his match. How long it had been, since he had had conversation with one of the Dov – true conversation, of magnificent fire and fury!

Miraak would not dishonour his opponent by holding back an inch. As Laataazin’s dragon-fire dimmed, Miraak shot a bolt of lightning into its heart. Laataazin cursed in a rumbling voice – either he’d surprised them or hit them. He followed it up immediately with a torrent of ice-storm. The cold was revitalising after the heat of their grappling, and even better, he heard the brittle snap of Laataazin’s armour. Thick mist descended, the hiss of his summoned snow spitting when it touched their searing hot armour, the tower.

Miraak drew his sword and spun it idly in one hand.

“Hiding is beneath you, Dragonborn,” he called smugly. Casting Muffle in one hand, he prowled around the column of mist and strained his eyes for any movement in the shadows inside. There – a flicker!

Miraak’s Cyclone Shout bolstered the speed of his limbs, until he was like a surging tempest. He rained down blows on Laataazin, their shield, their armoured shoulders, but Laataazin bore the vicious attacks like a fortress of stone. His oily weapon, the gleam of Mora’s eye dark against his wrist, spawned writhing tentacles that yanked and pulled at the ties of their armour. One strap frayed and snapped under his onslaught, and Laataazin leapt back as if they had just realised what he was about.

“Serpent!” they hissed at him, and Miraak smirked.

He turned his eyes to the crumbling pillars where the dragons snapped and snarled at each other. Relonikiv was tenting its wings, posturing at a growling Sahrotaar, whose finned tail lashed restlessly. Its eyes were dull and distressed.

“Weak that you are,” Miraak called up to it, “You may serve me again to redeem yourself.”

He summoned in a great breath to Shout, but Laataazin’s rung out first, with a crack like sundering worlds. All three dragons froze, the leash of Bend Will dropping over them like a lead blanket.

“Go!” Laataazin shouted hoarsely. They had pushed themselves to Shout sooner than they should have, Miraak could hear the cracks in their throat. No master indeed the Greybeards had raised.

Relonikiv was first, shooting up like an arrow from a bow, then Sahrotaar with a howl of “Thuri!” that sounded almost mournful. Kruziikrel fought, digging its talons into the pillars, but Relonikiv swooped down again to bite at its head until, roaring, Kruziikrel lumbered into the sky. Sahrotaar circled them in swooping lines, like a carrion bird over an army.

“Using my own Shout against me?” Miraak snarled, “They cannot help you up there!”

Miraak did not wait for them to recover but rushed to close the gap. He needed that shield gone if he wanted to close this fight and secure his freedom. Distracted by the dragons, Laataazin didn’t have time to raise their shield before he was on them.

“MUL QAH DIIV!” Miraak’s Dragon Aspect emblazoned him like a god, strengthened his attacks. He went for power this time, two hands clutching over the grip of his sword, blinding Laataazin with sweeps of his great spectral wings. They firmed beneath their onslaught, but their fierce eyes were looking at his face – and so therefore missed his tail lashing around to crack against their knee.

Laataazin stumbled, and Miraak wedged his sword under the shield and sent it flying. A well-placed lightning bolt had it soaring clear over the edge of the tower, and he retreated out of the range of their retribution. With how strong they were, he did not want to risk being caught beneath their blade. He imagined they must strike with the strength of a giant.

Facing him, Laataazin’s expression, marred by old scars and freshly-cut by the splinters of their mask, was a ferocious scowl. Their only reply was a wracking cough. They held their weaponless hand cocked protectively over their midriff, where the loosened strap had left their chestplate to sag on one side.

Relonikiv screamed anxiously.

They met with a furious clash. Evenly armed, though Miraak noted Laataazin had not once used magic, their struggle was one of bodies and clanging weapons. They drove notches into his sword with the force of their swings, jarred his arms all the way up to his shoulder. The fight was long, brutal, and messy. Thrice they cut him and once they just fisted a hand around his belt and headbutted him so hard his skull rang inside his mask.

The summit quickly became scarred with their tumultuous battle, smoking pits of dragon-fire and magical ice still crackling with the aftermath of lightning. The leathery spines of the books that made up this particular tower became waterlogged and swampy under their feet, making Miraak’s boots slide and slip when they bulled against him.

It was an intricate dance, and Miraak’s partner knew the steps well. Better, perhaps, than he, after all this time in Apocrypha with none but Seekers and Lurkers with whom to practice his skills. He praised their skill, and reassured them of the inevitability of his triumph. He could not lose. Miraak’s destiny was freedom.

Through it all, the ink swirled and sucked against the base of the tower, and the dragons circled far above it, their agitated roaring backdrop to the clashing of their blades, Miraak’s grunts when they pushed him back. Laataazin was quiet, but he heard the raspiness of their breathing, saw the sweat that dripped down their forehead and mingled with the blood on their face. He couldn’t stop himself from inhaling when they came together again, close as lovers with their breath misting the front of his mask. Their sweat was pure and human, untainted by daedra.

When they were so close he could feel the trembling of their muscles as they fought him not through their blade but through their brace against his chest, Miraak met their eyes. They were brown as earth, he noticed, narrowed in determination. Bloodshot, as if they hadn’t been sleeping well. He bared his teeth at them. How long had they spent, toiling at his stones? Were their bloody eyes his alone?

The tentacles of his sword oozing wetly down the guard of their own, Miraak leant all his weight on their arms. He bore down on them with all his height advantage, crowding the smaller Last Dragonborn until he could see the strain gritting their teeth.

“Getting tired, Dragonborn?” Miraak purred, ignoring the fatigue in his own muscles.

They flicked their gaze up to the dragons circling far overhead. Their arm shook. Miraak pushed harder, sensing an opportunity, and all at once their body trembled at the force of him and gave in. His sword punched into the gap in their armour and slid in to the hilt. Reflexively, Miraak tried to yank it free – but it had notched into bone, and all he achieved was making blood gush wet and warm from the wound.

Laataazin gasped.

For a brief moment, the both of them only blinked at the sword that speared from Laataazin’s chest, the blood that spurted steadily over Miraak’s gloves, but then suddenly, their weapon fell from nerveless fingers and clattered to the floor.

“NO!” Mora howled, “This cannot be!”

Laataazin fell, and Miraak caught them without knowing why. They were warm and real, heavy, in his arms. He sank to his knees to bear their weight, arrested by the sheer redness of their shocking-bright blood over their steely armour, his robes, his buckle. Exposed, Laataazin stared up at him, their ruined face mortal and small. This close, he noticed details about them he had not before; the grey hairs that stood among the close-cropped brown of their hair – older than Miraak looked, but centuries younger – the wrinkles around their eyes and mouth that told him they had loved to laugh, once. Laataazin did not laugh now. They coughed, a wet, rattling gurgle, and blood splattered over the scarred lips. They were trying to speak, he could see their lips fumbling, but only blood came out.

“This is the only way, Dragonborn,” Miraak hissed at them, “The only way I can be free.”

Their hand, weakly, curled into the front of his robes.

“This is not my design!” Mora shrieked, and Miraak was dimly aware of his tentacles racing over the floor towards them.

Laataazin’s wide eyes stared up at Miraak. Tears of pain glittered on their cheek. Their breath was shallow and rattling around the sword. They were going to suffocate on their own blood; Miraak had perforated their lung. But there was no time for Laataazin to die slowly in Miraak’s arms. Mora was coming.

Miraak gripped the Last Dragonborn’s jaw, and closed his eyes, his bloody gloved hand spreading red stains over Laataazin’s neck as he sought the softness of their temples, then the back of their head. He pulled on his magicka, that deep and verdant pool inside of him. And then as Mora reached them, Miraak cast the strongest lightning spell he knew.

A snap of burning flesh and Mora’s scream. Laataazin’s body convulsed in his arms, and Miraak roared in pain as the electricity shot through his own body, but they were dead before their stunned hand could untwist from their robes.

Mora’s tentacles wrapped around Laataazin’s chest and yanked. Miraak clung to their body doggedly.

“No,” he shouted, “NO! You won’t-“

A bolt of green magic struck his shoulder and Miraak cried out. Seekers – waves of them, coming up the side of the tower-

Laataazin’s flesh was beginning to glow, Miraak maintaining a death grip on them as the embers of their soul roared to life and surged into him. He felt their flesh dissolving against his fingers, felt the hungry jaws inside his dragon-soul rear its jaw wide, ready to rend and tear Laataazin’s soul into nothing but power for Miraak.

Another blast of magic rocked him, then three more in quick succession. It blew him onto his back and Miraak stared through eyes blurred with pain as the three dragons in the sky tucked their wings and dove. Fire blasted from Sahrotaar, immolating a wave of Seekers before they could fire on Miraak again.

Mora’s tentacles thickened like snake coils and with a mighty heave, the Prince yanked Laataazin’s body from his grasp. Miraak clung to the shred of the Last Dragonborn’s soul even as their body was ripped away from him. With effort, Miraak plunged his magic into the centre of Laataazin’s soul, and followed that tiny, tugging thread, back to Laataazin’s real body.

The air rent wide with a horrible Daedric scream. An unholy rictus of green light shredded open and Miraak saw through, warm darkness, firelight, Nirn. Mora was howling with rage, his thick tentacles wrapping around Miraak’s neck, his body, his limbs, trying to slow him down. The dragons protected him from the Seekers, rode flaming passes over Mora’s tentacles so they withered and popped with the thick reek of smoking oil, but Miraak felt himself being dragged back, slowly, into Mora’s embrace.

“No, no, no,” he gasped, desperation searing as tears in his eyes.

For a moment, Miraak felt a surge of something, as if some dying ember of the Last Dragonborn had heard his cry as he ate their soul, and then the glorious streams of gold and blue and green became fire, dragonfire, infused with all the colours of Keizaal’s auroras and hotter than its sun.  A rancid smell boiled up as Mora’s tentacles bubbled and burnt in the fire of Laataazin’s soul infusing into Miraak, their flesh into his, their will becoming his own.

Miraak forced his foot through the portal, then his shoulder. He struggled there like a fly caught in a web as the portal began to narrow and waver, his body wrenched between planes by Mora’s tentacles.

“Niid,” Miraak roared, “MUL QAH DIIV!”

His Dragon Aspect formed spears of spines that drove into Mora’s tentacles, causing the Daedric Prince to snarl. The tentacle hold loosed, just barely, just slightly, and Miraak stumbled forward, out, out, out, into Nirn.

Miraak collapsed to his knees onto Laataazin’s fleshless body, hearing their bones rattle within the casings of their armour at the force of the collision. With his last shred of strength, he reached back and hooked his hand into the portal, feeling Apocrypha’s fury shred into the bone and muscle of his hand. It was agony, agony, but first Sahrotaar’s blue snout wrested its way out, Relonikiv, slim and quick, and Kruziikrel, shouldering through with a deep bass roar at the tightening shred of Mora’s thorns.

The portal snapped closed with a resounding boom. Miraak felt Mora’s presence die, a last imprint of futile, terrible rage.

One of the dragons was howling, and droplets of dragonblood were stinging acidic on Miraak’s shoulders, his bowed head. His hand was a wreck, bloody ink gushing from the wounds, and Miraak was laughing, laughing.

He gripped Laat Dovahkiin’s empty chestplate until his gloves creaked. Their mask rattled free of their fleshless skull, blank white wood yet unbroken here, with no eyes, no enemy, no soul. Miraak gasped for breath around horrible laughter that wrenched at his chest as if it were possessing him, hot tears in his eyes.

Miraak was free.

(tags: @sumsaltysorceress @argisthebulwark)

[afni-fics]

Elder Scrolls DC - A Reluctant Dragonborn - Chapter 18: Dragon Rising (part 2)

Elder Scrolls DC - A Reluctant Dragonborn - Chapter 18: Dragon Rising (part 2) by C_R_Scott Chapters: 18/? Fandom: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Red Robin (Comics), DCU (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Characters: Tim Drake, Lucien Flavius Additional Tags: Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Skyrim/DCU crossover, Reluctant Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, Not Beta Read, Alternate Universe - Skyrim Fusion, Modded Skyrim, Skyrim Spoilers, Tim Drake is Dragonborn | Dovahkiin, Batfamily-centric (DCU), Tim Drake-centric

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Summary:

Battle at the Watchtower

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It didn't take long for Tim to catch up with Irileth and her handful of city guards near the stables just outside of Whiterun's walls. The dark elf had given Tim a odd look when he arrived, but said nothing except to stay close and to keep his eyes open for any signs of dragon in the night sky.

As Tim walked along the road towards the watchtower that had been attacked, all traces of weariness had bled away to be replaced by growing sense of dread and anxiety. The hour was late, and Tim honestly wasn't sure he'd be able to spot the black dragon from Helgen against the dark night sky. Adding to his unease was the smell of smoke wafting towards them even before they saw the light from the fires burning in and around the destroyed watchtower. He immediately recognized the smell of burning wood and charred flesh, and he felt his stomach churn.

Still, he kept pushing forward along with Irileth and her guards without a word about his discomfort.

They stopped by a pile of large stones a short way from the watchtower. The soldiers and Irileth were stunned by the amount of damage. The stone structure had a jagged scar cutting through the top half of the structure, the wound illuminated by fires burning within it. Rubble from the tower and bodies of soldiers both burning and simply dead lay scattered around the grounds of the tower. However, despite all the visible carnage, there was no sight of the dragon anywhere, and no sounds except for the crackling flames and cold wind blowing through the grass. 

The silence was unsettling. Tim had been around long enough to know that out in this land, even at night there ought to have other noises. Wolves... Owls... Foxes... Deer... Insects... The sounds of Skyrim's nocturnal creatures were just not there. 

"No signs of any dragon right now, but it sure looks like he's been here," Irileth said as she scanned the watchtower and the skies. Then she looked to her men and Tim. "I know it looks bad, but we've got to figure out what happened, and if that dragon is still skulking around somewhere." She made a motion that her men immediately recognized as a "move out" command. "Spread out and look for survivors. We need to know what we're dealing with." 

When Irileth's eyes fell on Tim, he nodded as a good soldier would. Before she turned to follow her men, the dark elf's red eyes drifted to a point over Tim's shoulder and behind him, and she inclined her head in a "look over there" gesture. Curious, Tim glanced behind him and his own blue eyes widened in surprise.

"Lucien? What are you doing here?" he asked the scholar in surprise as the other man jogged up and finally stopped to catch his breath. 

"What does it look like?" Lucien gasped out between breaths. 

"You didn't have to come."

"Yes I did." Lucien looked at Tim square in the eyes with a determined expression. "We Flaviuses have a reputation to always keep our promises, and I will be damned if some idiot Jarl, a bloodthirsty dragon, and your obvious lack of self-preservation sense makes a liar out of me before I can get you home!"

Tim felt a small part of the anxious knot in his chest unwind, just a little, as he smiled at Lucien gratefully. "Thank you," he said softly. Then he turned to the watchtower while arming himself with his bow and a nocked arrow. "The dragon doesn't seem to be around at the moment. Irileth wants us to look for survivors."

Lucien nodded and appeared to ready a frost spell in his hands, a cold mist swirling around his fingers. "Lead the way, then."

***

The pair of them moved towards the bridge leading into the body of the damaged watchtower. Tim could see Irileth's soldiers checking on the survivors and fallen on the outer grounds, so he directed Lucien to join him at the tower itself. As they got closer, he could hear one of the watchtower guards trying desperately to warn Irileth away.

"No! Get back! It's still here somewhere!" 

Tim froze.

"Hroki and Tor just got grabbed when they tried to make a run for it!"

Tim felt his heartbeat thudding in his ears. As Lucien went to the guardsman to check on his injuries, Tim immediately began scanning the skies. Suddenly, the guard gasped and his words sent a chill down Tim's spine. 

"Kynareth save us, here he comes again!"

The statement was punctuated by a familiar terrifying roar and the sound of wind rushing past wings. Tim's eyes zeroed in on a dark shadow sailing past the blood red moon and into a bank of gray clouds in the sky. Despite himself, Tim's hands trembled on his bow.

Irileth's commanding voice cut through the night. "Here he comes! Find cover and make every arrow count!" 

Suddenly a dark shadow and an unnatural rush of wind nearly knocked Tim and the others off the watchtower bridge. Tim immediately moved to shove Lucien into nearby cover with a group of other guards, who were firing arrows into the sky. Tim was about to find his own cover and join them when something massive landed heavily on the ground, causing an earthquake like tremor that knocked Tim off the bridge and to the ground below. 

Pain shot through his body at the impact of the fall, and his head spun. Despite this, Tim managed to keep a grip on his bow and he forced himself to get to his feet as quickly as he could. Adrenaline coursed through his veins and screamed at him to move.

Then he froze as he turned to see face of the enormous menacing dragon staring straight at him just a yard from where he stood.

The massive beast's eyes narrowed as he stared at Tim. Though he was terrified, Tim immediately brought up his bow and fired at the dragon point blank. The dragon jerked his head up to avoid the projectile even as other arrows began to rain down on him from the other guards. Then, to the young man's shock, the dragon opened his mouth and words spilled out.

"I had forgotten what fine sport you mortals can provide!"

Tim's eyes widened. "You can talk?!"

Instead of an answer, the dragon pulled back his head with an obvious inhale. "YOL... " Tim immediately recognized the word from Helgen.

"Get back!" he yelled at the guards and Lucien in alarm as he himself ran for cover. "Fire! Fire!"

"TOOR SHUL!!" 

Tim just barely dove for cover behind a pile of stone rubble as a blast of intense fire scorched the earth and air around him. He couldn't restrain the scream of terror as he huddled behind the rocks as much as he could to avoid the flames. Suddenly the flames stopped and there was a rush of air against the ground, putting out some of the grass fires around him, as the dragon took off into the sky again.

"Timothy!" A blast of cold mist washed over the area around Tim as the young man gasped for air. Suddenly Lucien was in front of him, his frosted over hands cradling Tim's face. The shock of cold against his skin startled Tim out of the fear-induced daze he'd fallen into.

"Lucien?!" Tim gasped as he became aware of his surrounding. 

"We need to move! Back to the bridge!" Lucien tried to help him to his feet. 

Still gripping his bow, Tim moved as quickly as he could to cover with Lucien underneath the bridge. He forced himself to nock arrow after arrow at the dragon as he flew circles around them, sending fire blasts at various targets. It was only because of Lucien that he was able to keep moving from cover to cover. Whenever the dragon roared or a blast of fire hit too close, Tim would flinch hard or even freeze in place. Rather than using his magic to attack the dragon itself, Lucien chose instead to use his ice spells to put out the various fires on the ground, which allowed Tim and the other soldiers move more safely without getting burned. The cold of the icy mist Lucien used seemed to break through Tim's fear and kept him moving.

"Look!" Lucien cried out and pointed as they felt the ground rumble from the dragon's landing again. "I think... he's almost dead!"

Tim's gaze followed Lucien's hand and stared grounded dragon. Dozens of arrows were embedded in its thick hide and blood poured from the wounds on its body and head. The membrane of one of his wings was in tattered and made it so that the beast could no longer take to the air. That didn't stop it from trying to snap at nearby soldiers daring to take up swords against it, or sending blasts of fire when it could do so with those same three words as before. 

Swallowing hard, Tim lifted his bow and continued firing arrows at the dragon along with the other soldiers. Each arrow felt heavier than the last though, as despite his fear of the beast he couldn't get out of his head that this monster had spoken to him. Despite the fact that this dragon was trying to kill all of then, it was a sentient, intelligent creature, and Tim's hand was one of many working to end its life! 

As Tim nocked one more arrow to his bow and drew it back, he felt his hands tremble. Time seemed to slow around him and the dragon. The beast had just finished firing a blast of fire at a soldier on the ground and had turned to glare at Tim just as his fingers released their grip on the arrow. As the arrow flew, something shifted in the dragon's expression, as if realizing something important in that one moment about the young mortal man standing before him.

Tim's arrow struck true, piercing the dragon in the throat, and seemed to be the final blow needed to fell the beast. The dragon reared its head back. "Dovahkiin? No!!" it roared in agony before collapsing to the ground.

Tim felt his eyes whell up with tears and they spilled out down his cheeks as the soldiers around him cheered wildly in victory.

"I'm sorry..." Tim whispered as his bow fell from numb fingers. From somewhere far away, he could hear Lucien calling out to him with concern, but all Tim could do was stare as the life faded from the dragon's eyes. He walked forward slowly towards the dragon's body, guilt wracking his conscience.

"Wait! Look at that!" a guard exclaimed with alarm. 

Tim and everyone who had been moving towards the dragon froze as the body of the beast began to ignite and dissolve right before their eyes. 

"What's happening?!" Lucien cried out.

"Everyone get back!" Irileth shouted, and nearly everyone scrambled to pull away from the dragon.

Everyone but Tim. 

Tim was frozen in place. He barely even registered the chaos around him as he stared at the dragon as its very scales and flesh ignited in a cascading spontaneous combustion, leaving behind nothing but clean white bone. Then, the bones themselves began to glow with a bright blinding light as a sudden gust of swirling wind carried that light straight for him. 

Reflexively, Tim pulled up his arms to shield his face and closed his eyes, but after a moment he realized that the wind was not inflicting any more pain on his body. Slowly he opened his eyes and watched with confused awe as the tendrils of light on the wind swirled around and into his body. As the winds died down and the light faded, Tim raised a hand and pressed it to his chest. Something was... different... But he couldn't quite articulate what that was. What was it that dragon had said as it died? What was that word?  

"Dovahkiin?" he whispered to himself.

The sound of armored soldiers rushing to his position immediately set him on edge. For a brief moment, he thought that perhaps they were rushing to attack him, that whatever had just happened had made him a new threat in their eyes. Tim turned to them, hands upraised to show he was unarmed.

But there were no swords or bows drawn against him.

Instead, all the soldiers there were staring at him in awe and... reverence?

"I can't believe it!" one of the guards closest to him said. "You're... Dragonborn..."

"Dragon... born?" Tim echoed with clear confusion. "What do you mean?"

The Nord soldier explained. "In the very oldest tales, back from when there were still dragons in Skyrim, the Dragonborn would slay dragons and steal their power. That's what you did, isn't it? Absorbed the dragon's power?"

Tim felt a coil of fear and dread tighten in his chest. He could feel himself shake his head in reflexive denial. "I... I don't know," he stammered uneasily as he turned to stare at the dragon bones again. "I don't know what happened to me."

As the guards began to murmur amongst themselves about the stories they heard as children of the Dragonborn, Tim felt like his brain was short circuiting. He wanted to deny everything that was being said around him, but he just couldn't seem to find his voice.

"That's right! My grandfather used to tell stories about the Dragonborn..."

"...born with the Dragon Blood in 'em..."

"...Like old Tiber Septim himself..."

"...You must be one!"

One of the guards finally addressed Irileth. "What do you say, Irileth? You're being awfully quiet." 

Tim turned his gaze to the dark elf and was startled to find that her red eyes had been focused on him this entire time. She averted her gaze when he caught her and turned to her guards.

"Hmph. Some of you would be better off keeping quiet than flapping your gums on matters you don't know anything about."

Somehow, hearing that made Tim feel marginally better. A little more grounded anyway. He watched as Irileth went over to the dragon's bones and nudged them with her sword. 

"Here's a dead dragon, and that's something I can definitely understand."

Tim felt a touch on his arm again, and he turned to look at Lucien, who appeared to be as dazed as he felt. Still the scholar tried to put on reassuring smile. "Now Whiterun should be safe, yes? The dragon that burned you and Helgen is dead now. That's a relief, isn't it?"

Tim froze. "No... That's not right..." he murmured.

Irileth caught their conversation and turned to Tim and Lucien. "What do you mean by that? The dragon is dead at our feet."

Shaking his head, Tim searched the ground for a moment before finding what he was looking for. He knelt down and picked up a scale that had not combusted with the rest. "The dragon that attacked Helgen was black," he said solemnly as he brushed away the soot that had been on the scale. From where he knelt, he offered the scale to Irileth. "This one was grey." Even as the words left his lips, Tim felt that coil of fear and dread tighten even more. "This was a different dragon."

The elf's face became grim as she took the scale and examined it closely. "That was the hairiest fight I've ever been in, and I've been in more than a few. If dragons are coming back... If the black one from Helgen was only the first for many... Then we need to prepare. At least now we know they can be killed."

Tim bowed his head and slowly rose to his feet. The thought of another dragon dying at his hands made him feel sick to his stomach. However, the moment he stood up fully, his sense of balance pitched, and he nearly fell back down again. The only reason he stayed even partially upright was because Lucien caught him. Even then, though, Lucien was not strong enough to keep him on his feet for long. He was forced to ease Tim down to the ground gently as he could manage without hurting him further.

"L-Lucien," Tim gasped as his vision began to blur and darken around the edges. 

"Damn it!" Lucien cursed as he pressed his hand to Tim's forehead. "You're burning up! You've pushed yourself too far!"

"Sorry," Tim whispered as he closed his eyes, suddenly feeling so dizzy and tired. "Should've listened to you."

Irileth knelt down as well. Her eyes narrowed. "What's wrong with him?"

"He's sick!" Lucien snapped angrily. "He was burned at Helgen and the wounds were never healed properly. They're infected!"

As Tim's consciousness faded into blackness, he could hear the alarm in Irileth's voice as she immedately started barking orders for her men to fetch a horse and cart as fast as they could. "We need to get him to the Temple NOW!"

  -------------------------

Warning: This is being pantsed more than plotted, and this is not beta read. We'll see where this journey takes us. Mostly I'm just doing this for my own amusement.

Note1: If you have any questions about the playthrough and Tim's feelings/experiences that aren't described in the chapters, please ask me in the comments. I'll do my best to answer your questions as best I can.

Note2:

In my head, the Batman's "No Killing" rule applies not just to human beings, metahumans, or aliens that are humanoid in appearance, but to all living creatures that are intelligent and sentient. Capacity for speech is a big identifier of this type of sentience.

When Tim first encountered the black dragon in Helgen, he may have heard the dragon "Shouting" his spells, but didn't really register them as words at the time. Here, Tim heard the grey dragon (Mirmulnir) actually speaking, so it flipped a switch in Tim's perception that dragons are not mere beasts.

So this, technically, is Tim's first instance of breaking his adopted father's "No Killing" rule in Skyrim, and it's hit him very hard... as if his interaction with the first black dragon wasn't traumatic enough...

#elder scrolls dc#fanfiction#tim drake#skyrim fanfiction#batfam fanfic#red robin#batfam#crossover#lucien flavius#wip#afewnovelideas

[ask-demon-princess-astarte]

Inspired by the beautiful commission done for me by @dovaahkiin I wrote this fic. Enjoy.

---------------------------------------------------

Night fell over the land over Skyrim, stars glittering in the darkness. In Whiterun, aside from the guards patrolling the streets, all was still and silent. Farkas sighed as he rolled over in the bed, his beast blood keeping him from getting a restful sleep. He looked up to see Azirina reading a book. 

 "You can't sleep either huh?" He asked, sitting up. 

 "Lucia was coughing earlier. I gave her a potion to help her sleep, but I am just checking that she will not wake herself up." She explained, closing the book. She turned to look at him, her blue eyes glowing in the darkness. He sat up beside her, the only sounds in the house the occasional movement of the other residents or a cough. 

 "So, not only are you the Dragonborn, Harbinger and the nine knows what else, but you're also an alchemist now?" He asked as he sat up. She chuckled softly, resting her head on his shoulder. He lay his head atop hers, enjoying the silence when a pounding at the door made them jump. Azirina hopped to her feet, padding down silently to the door. Farkas sat up as he heard Aela speaking. 

 "Another giant is attacking the farms outside the walls. They have asked the companions for aid." She explained to Azirina. Farkas didn't hear exactly what she said in response, but the door soon shut and she reappeared, grabbing her armour and pulling it on. He went to pull on his own then paused. 

 "I will stay here with the children." He said, standing and taking her hands. "Just shout should you need me." He added slyly, placing a kiss on her forehead. Azirina simply chuckled before heading out the door. He sat down, listening to the fire crackle and the occasional guard pass by. 

 After an hour, he frowned. It shouldn't take this long. He got to his feet, grabbing a blade whilst Lydia came down the stairs. "Stay here, guard the children." He said as he headed out of the door. Even in Whiterun, the distant sounds of a battle could be heard, the grunts of the giant sounding like a distant thunder storm. 

 In the darkness, a mighty shout echoed through the stars. "Mid Vur Shaan!" His head snapped up and he ran up to the wall to see the battle. The companions, as if empowered by the shout, appeared to glow as they battled the three giants. One fell to Aela's arrows. The second soon succumbed to Vilkas' and Aethis' blades. But the third was proving stubborn, numerous arrows and cuts upon the great beast's body. Then he saw the glow of magic. 

 As the giant swung its club, smashing into the ground and sending soil skywards, magic glowed, healing Aela of an injury from debris. Azirina stood out, a blue star amongst the warriors. Seeming to sense her strength, the giant turned to her. Azirina moved back, firing three arrows rapidly. He heard a faint gasp as several guards joined him by the parapet. All of them watched as one of the arrows caught the giant in the eye. It groaned, swinging blindly. In the darkness, his eyes caught the blue of her armour as she moved backwards. 

 "Yol Toor Shul!" A second shout filled the air, a ball of fire striking the giant. 

 "Was that a dragon?" One of the guards cried, looking skywards. 

 "No. It was the Dovahkiin." Another said. Farkas held back a laugh as more gasps of astonishment filled the air. He sheathed his blade, knowing he was not needed. The giant stumbled backwards, howling in pain. Azirina followed, running after the beast and bringing her blade into its belly. As the giant roared in agony, she pulled back. 

 "Rii Vaaz Zol!" The giant crumpled on the ground as a blue aura hit it. The beast lay, on the ground. Azirina sighed as she sheathed her blade, going and helping Ria to her feet. The group turned to return to Whiterun, pausing as the guards cheered from the walls of the city. Azirina stood, letting the others enter ahead of her, pausing only to share a brief conversation with Vilkas. Farkas remained on the wall as she approached. 

 "Why did you come from the house?" She asked him, leaning on the parapet.

 "You were gone a while." He replied. "I was starting to get concerned." 

 "There was only one to begin with. But then more appeared. There were five at one point, and a mammoth. But I managed to get the mammoth and one of the giants away using a shout. That big one though, the last one, proved resilient." She explained. 

 "I saw. The big bastard was truly putting up a fight." He chuckled as he wrapped an arm around her. She smiled, leaning into his embrace. She turned, her arms wrapping around his neck, his arms embracing her waist. For a moment, it was merely the two of them. No dragons, no civil war, no expectations. Just two lovers embracing beneath the stars, silence filling the space between them. Until she spoke to him softly. 

 "Farkas?" 

 "Hmm?"

 "Where is your hand going?" He merely chuckled in response.

[vosh-rakh]

Daa,

Something’s come up. It’s Uuloril and daro’Zirr. He went missing first, and then they went to find him. Now they’re both gone. If you don’t hear from me in a week or two, your ass better come looking for me. And them too, I guess.

I don’t want to lose any more of us.

- Scales

With a note like that, she should have known better than to expect him to wait. 

Uuloril had been invited to meet someone; he had told daro’Zirr where he was going; Hla-eix followed daro’Zirr’s tracks, because the khajiit always traveled recklessly. But Hla-eix’s investigation left very little for Daabush to go on, the clues mostly destroyed or no longer useful, and Hla-eix knew how to move in secret, minimizing her trail.

Fortunately, on top of being among the last Dragonborns, Daabush was damn near the best tracker in all of Tamriel.

He followed her across Skyrim, never catching up, but the faint trail was fresh enough he knew she couldn’t be more than a day ahead of him. He knew he wouldn’t find her before she found their friends, but hopefully whatever happened, they could hold out one extra day for him to arrive.

After a week of chasing, Daabush entered the Dragontail Mountains, and thereby the nation Orsinium. He might have been excited to be here had the circumstances been different. At the border he was stopped by orcs in heavy orichalc armor.

“Halt, outsider,” said one, supposedly the leader, in Orcish. “State your business.” 

“None of your business,” replied Daabush. His Orcish was fairly rusty.

“You come here, you make it our business,” said one of the other guards.

“I can really make it your business if I have to. Move aside.”

“That a threat?” The guards drew their weapons in trained unison.

Daabush had not bothered to bring his bow for this quest. Whatever was stealing his friends from him demanded a more personal touch. He pulled a massive warhammer from his back, but did not bother entering a combat stance. “A promise.”

One of the younger guards stepped forward to attack, but his boss held him back, and said, “Wait. Is that…?”

“By Malacath,” exclaimed another. “It is. It’s…”

As every orc recognized the hammer and its gravity, they whispered in awe, “Volendrung.”

Daabush stepped forward until he was almost tusk-to-tusk with the captain. “Unless any of you want an express trip to meet the one who gave me this hammer,” he said, “you are going to take me to the city. Now.”

- - - - -

The capital city of Orsinium, Orsinium Major, was nested in a deep valley surrounded on all sides by a veritable wall of mountain faces. It was only accessible via a network of natural tunnels carved into the rock. The orc from the border patrol who led him there had to give Daabush to the guards who roamed those halls. They attempted to rebuff him as well, but his heavy badge as Malacath’s champion forced their hand.

When he emerged into Orsinium Major, he could not help himself this time to be a tiny bit awestruck. The entire city was built like a temple, perfectly arranged and carved from stone, every building from abode to smithy to palace a monolith to the strength and fortitude of the orcish people. Orcs, goblins, ogres, trolls, and even ogrim walked its streets like priests of Malacath (or Trinimac), and though Daabush had long ago distanced himself from his people, his chest was filled with pride to witness their works.

But then he remembered his purpose, and continued his investigation.

After asking around to no avail, Daabush resorted to more subtlety in his search. The approach proved fruitful, if only because the subtlety of his target was less than impressive. The facility was poorly hidden. If you looked hard enough, the entrance to the cave was visible from over the city’s walls. And Daabush had eyes like a hawk. All it took the old hunter was a bit of climbing to reach it.

The hole in the side of the mountain was watched by two orcs in even heavier armor, but brass rather than orichalc. (Daabush did not care to wonder why.) They were braver than the border patrol, and seemed unimpressed by the artifact Daabush wielded. But their bravery was misplaced. One had his chest caved in, and the other Shouted off the mountain.

The first chamber of the caverns was mostly empty, except for some brass machinery that Daabush couldn’t quite place. Were these thugs operating out of some dwarven ruins? It seemed irrelevant to him until one of the machines spoke.

It was some kind of perforated cone hung from the ceiling. It had a thin, metallic voice, speaking Cyrodiilic. “Ah, you’re here, Daabush gro-Dren. Come, your friends and I are waiting for you. But, if I may? Please do spare my researchers. They will not harm you. I cannot make the same promise for the soldiers, as they are sworn to defend our work. Make your way to us as you must. I eagerly awai-”

Daabush smashed the machine into a thousand brass pieces. He didn’t bother to see if it communicated both ways, because he couldn’t stand to hear any more of the transmitted monologuing. If they were to exchange words before Daabush tore him apart, they were going to do it face-to-face.

He did decide to oblige the speaker’s request to spare the civilians. But he relished destroying the armed orcs like they were skeevers. Deep into the mountain, with a trail of mangled corpses and weeping scientists behind him, Daabush kicked down the door to the lab.

Inside were four cages. Three of them held Uuloril, daro’Zirr, and Hla-eix, all chained and gagged, while the fourth and central chamber contained a small orc whose brief startlement became a wide smile when he saw Daabush.

“Wonderful! You made it.” He clasps his hands together. “My name is Ogash. I hope the soldiers didn’t give you much trouble? Ah, no, of course they didn’t. With friends like these,” gesturing vaguely at the caged Dragonborns, “of course you would be more than capable of taking care of them.”

“Let them go. And maybe I won’t paint Orsinium with your guts.”

Ogash frowns. “Oh, well, you see. I can’t quite do that yet. I do hope you don’t get too heated over it.”

“I can show you heated, alright. Let them go.”

“Show me that fire, then, little dragon. I’m dying to hear it!”

Hla-eix yells through her gag and fights against her restraints, but it’s too late. “Yol Toor Shul!”

Daabush’s shout never reaches the orc in the cage. Suddenly his eardrums are filled with ringing like a bell’s long echo, and he cannot move an inch.

“Excellent!” exclaims the small orc, opening his cage. “Give me one moment, please.”

Only Daabush’s eyes are mobile now, and he looks around the room. The walls and ceiling are covered with more of those metal cones, and they stare at him like laughing eyes. His captor moves over to a large machine and fiddles with it for a moment, pulling levers and flipping switches. It prints out something on a long scroll of paper, which he scrutinizes with a growing frown.

“Damn. Still useless to me…” He glances at Daabush’s frozen body with a slight smile. “You’d think the thu’um would be more interesting, and more scientifically important.” He crumples up the paper and tosses it behind him. “Oh well. I’ll release them then. You’ll find I haven’t harmed a hair on their head. Or tail. Or a scale on their skin? What a fascinating bunch, but not for my purposes.”

As promised, Ogash begins to open the cages, unlock the chains, and remove the gags, starting with Uuloril, who seems very shaken by the entire ordeal. Next is daro’Zirr, who tries to bite the orc as he ungags her, but can’t quite manage it. Last is Hla-eix, who says nothing and does not resist.

Once the three are freed, Ogash operates the machine again, relinquishing Daabush from the ringing and paralysis. Daro’Zirr catches him as it happens so he doesn’t fall over. Once back on his feet, he tries to swing at their captor, but stops his arc just before hitting Uuloril square in the face. “He’s letting us go,” the altmer says, his voice dripping with exhaustion. “Leave it be. No more bloodshed.”

Daabush stares into Uuloril’s eyes for a moment, then grunts and puts Volendrung away. Ogash smiles at Daabush, and he really wishes Uuloril would let him kill the orc anyway.

But then there is a flash of steel and a spray of warmth on Uuloril and Daabush. They stare at Hla-eix and her bloody blade and face as Ogash starts screaming.

“Oops,” she says. “I’m sorry. I think I slipped. So very sorry.”

“I don’t think she’s sorry,” Uuloril whispers to Daabush after stepping back to hide behind him. “Or that it was an accident.”

“You don’t say,” Daabush says, rolling his eyes.

Daabush bends over and picks up Ogash’s severed arm from the floor. “Here,” he says, holding it out to the wailing orc. “Let me give you a hand.” He hits Ogash so hard that the amputated limb breaks with several sickening snaps, and the orc is unconscious before he hits the ground. His body starts thrashing about, blood spewing everywhere, as the last Dragonborns leave Orsinium to go home.

---------

“I need a new lab. New facilities.”

A smith is fitting Ogash for a prosthetic as a healer tends to his swollen face. Across from him, shrouded in darkness, is the King of Orsinium.

“You don’t say,” she says, her eyes scanning the reports in her hands.

“New guards, of course. More of them. And almost all of my assistants quit.”

“Both are replaceable.” She flips through a few pages. “You, however, are not. Even if you’ve given me nothing so far.”

Ogash frowns and says nothing. But then he suddenly straightens up in his seat, then squeaks in pain. The sudden movement caused the healer to accidentally press too hard on the bruised mound supposedly hiding an eye. He composes himself, and says, “I have an idea. But I need a more remote lab. And more funds.”

The King puts aside the reports and leans forward, the shadows peeling from her skin like a sunburn. “What’s this new idea that will dig even deeper into my coffers?”

Ogash runs through historical, geological, mathematical, metaphysical, and tonal data in his head. “There’s a few more things that need checking. But this could really work.” His mind races through dark tunnels, navigating their twists and turns, searching for something that could change everything. “I need some of your best and most loyal to accompany me into the deep tunnels. Very deep.” 

He swats away the smith and healer with his remaining left hand so that he can lean in towards the King and whisper, “If we find what - who - I think is down there, I can make your nation something truly great.”

[ongoingaccident-deleted]

Martin, Dragonborn (3/?)

uhhhhh here’s this thing, ty in advance for reading, i love you all <333

    Adelaide isn’t sure what to expect when they offer to help the Jarl of Whiterun fight a dragon. (Martin isn’t either, she can tell, but there’s no time for them to talk, no chance for her to find someplace where he will be safe or even some armor so he will be better protected against a dragon than he is in those robes - he can insist all he wants that they’re more practical given his magical proclivities, but a fat load of good magic will do them if he gets chewed in half.)

    They arrive at the watchtower just in time to watch a guard get flung off of the tower by the dragon’s tail. She cannot help her flinch, and Martin averts his eyes from the spectacle entirely. She squeezes his arm in a show of support as they take off running toward the tower. The closer they get, the louder the dragon’s roars become, and they intermingle with the shouts of men - whether those men are fighting, bleeding, dying. There were not many guards stationed at the watchtower - why should there be? Whiterun seems peaceful enough - but the ones that are there are putting up a valiant fight. 

Then the dragon roars - “Yol toor shul!” (Fire inferno sun, though Adelaide isn’t sure how she knows that nor is there time to ponder it) - and the men on the ground burn. She pulls an intact enough bow and as many arrows as she can hold in her fist from the nearest corpse and slings the bow over her neck as she lets flames grow in her other hand. Two can play with fire. 

She looses it at the monster, but it only seems to make the creature angry. Martin wards her just as she brings up her shield to block another hail of flame. Around her, the soldiers that can still stand and some that can’t are firing arrows at the beast, and Irileth and Martin are slinging spells, and as she continues to hound the dragon with flames and the occasional arrow when her magicka dips, it seems to grow weary. 

Several tense minutes of dodging flames and whatever else the dragon used its tongue to conjure later, Adelaide lets fly an arrow that lands neatly in its wing joint, causing it to howl in pain. The monster crashes to the ground with a mighty roar, but this one forms no words - it is only agony given sound. 

The rest of the soldiers seem loathe to approach the dragon’s snapping jaws or flailing tail, but she wastes no time to think before charging. Adelaide fires another flame spell from her shield hand as she raises her sword and lashes at the dragon’s exposed throat. A spray of blood splatters her face, warm and sticky, but she doesn’t let up. Instead, she twists her blade deeper into its flesh and prays to Akatosh that this will be enough. 

The dragon thrashes wildly in what seems to be an attempt to remove her, but it is only when Martin places another protective spell on her that it screams. “Dovahkiin, niid!” - Dragonborn, no! - but how could the dragon recognize Martin as a Septim?

Adelaide has her answer a moment later, as the monstrous creature strains against her blade one final time before its head collapses to the ground (her elbows will certainly be sore in the morning from all the flailing, but it is a small price to pay). There is a moment of deafening silence as they all pause to ensure it’s truly dead, and then the cheering begins at the same time as the dragon’s corpse begins to burn with a white light. 

They all watch in awe as the dragon’s flesh peels from its bones, turning into some sort of brightly colored light that pours into Martin. He blinks, seemingly stunned, and a moment later the light dims and then disappears entirely. 

She is sore and bruised and a little bit singed, but Adelaide wastes no time in running to his side. “Are you okay?” She asks quietly, grasping him by the forearms as gently as she can. It doesn’t matter how powerful these dragons are, if one of them has hurt him in some way, she will burn them all. 

Martin nods even as he sways, looking almost woozy, and her grip on his arms tightens to steady him. He looks at her and blinks a few times before he smiles like he’s figured something out. “I understand,” he says quietly, almost breathlessly. “The words on the wall in the barrow, I understand them now.”

Of all of the things she was expecting him to say, that was not one of them. But there was no time to dwell on it before the guards that still lived were gathered around the two of them, clamoring over one another. “You must be the Dragonborn!” Is the one thing all of their voices seem to have in common. 

Irileth scoffs in disdain. “That’s a Nord myth.” Adelaide is thankful for her words, if only because they keep her from blurting out the response on the tip of her tongue - “How did you know?”. 

The Nord who seems to be (somewhat) in charge of those talking about Nord mythos she does not know or understand brushes off Irileth’s dismissal. “Try to Shout!” The soldiers, for a moment, seem more like excited children than anything else, all clamoring for Martin’s approval, but they all back off and watch intently when he acquiesces to their request. 

Martin shouts and it shakes the earth, and she knows somehow that everything has changed. 

--

thank you for reading and i hope you enjoyed!!! :D

[tis-i-the-most-uncooked-fry]

The  Day They Met

The warmth of the hearth, the sweet smell of mead, and melody of a lute playing softly in the background, the perfect way to wind down after a long day trekking through the long twisting roads of The Reach. A ferocious crack of lightning brings Telnian back to reality with a jolt and causes him to spill mead all over his lap. With a grumble he takes a cloth out of his satchel and attempts to clean the sticky drink from his lap and throws it onto the table next to his journal. Ugh that storm is going to chase him from sleep the entire night. Rubbing his temples, he sighs in defeat and returns to his journal, documenting the information from the fellow patrons of the inn about the hushed tales of Tiber Septim’s ghost appearing in the room he once stayed in. He hears giggling coming his left and turns to look for the source of it, he finds two young Nord girls staring at him with slightly flushed cheeks, he smiles and winks at them causing them to flush deeper and giggle louder before scampering off to the other side of the inn. He reaches for his tankard and brings it to his lips when, yet another crack of lightning strikes outside and the door to the inn is thrown open with enough force to almost knock it off its hinges. The eyes of every patron were on the Nord woman who was absolutely soaked to the bone with a sour look on her face standing in the doorway.

“Is that the?” Whispered one of the men.

“Aye that’s the Dragonborn!” Replied the man’s friend.

“Ysgramor’s jewels it is her!” Exclaims another.

Telnian’s pointed ears perk up at the mention of the most revered legend in all of Skyrim, Dragonborn? Oh, this is far more interesting than ghosts. With a huff of annoyance, the woman treks to the innkeeper motioning for a beverage, she tosses a few coins to woman and gives her nod before making her way to the corner where Telnian resides. She collapses into the seat at the table beside his own and takes a greedy sip of her mead. She slams the bottle onto the table and relaxes her shoulders, she glances toward him and raises an eyebrow before snapping.

“Can I help you?” She asks a little too harshly.

She closes her eyes and inhales before adding “Sorry, I’ve had quite the long day.”

He blinks at her before clearing his throat and smiling.

“Quite alright my dear, I can understand how taxing it must be to be the Dragonborn.” He says with devilish grin.

She downs the rest of her mead in two final gulps before turning to him.

“Alright I’ll bite, if you buy me another mead.” She says mirroring his smirk.

He beams in delight at her, stands from his seat and saunters over to the innkeeper and returns with a Black-Briar mead in hand and sits it next to her. She grabs it and takes the cork out before raising it to her lips, taking a sip and returning it to the table.

“Alright, what do you want to know?” She asks with a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

His eyes light up and he has force himself to keep a calm composure before clearing his throat and replying.

“Well how about your name?” He replies with a wink.

She snorts and takes a sip from her mead, and mockingly replying.

“What Dragonborn slayer of dragons not good enough for you?” She jokes with a smirk.

He raises an eyebrow at her and crosses his arms in defiance. She sighs defeated before giving him an answer.

“Ylva, Ylva Strong-Sword.” She replies. “Very Nord-y I know.” She adds motioning to herself with her hands.

“Ah yes, what a lovely yet powerful name indeed.” He chuckled, taking a sip from his forgotten tankard.

“What’s yours then?” She inquires resting her chin on the palm of her hand.

“Telnian, just Telnian.” He grinned at her and she shakes her head as she rolls her eyes.

“Now, time for the more obvious questions.” He smiles rubbing his hands together and retrieves his journal and flipping to an empty page before grabbing his quill and inkwell.

“Alright ask away.” She chuckles moving to get more comfortable knowing she will be sitting her for a while.

Quill in hand and beaming with excitement he licks his lips in anticipation before releasing the flood gate of questions he’s been itching to get the answers to ever since word had spread of the fabled Dragonborn.

“How does it work exactly? Does it hurt when you absorb the soul? Can you fly like a true dragon?” He questioned smiling like a kid in a candy store.

She blinks rapidly at him trying to decipher what he just said before replying.

“Um, first I’m not really sure how it works to be honest, it just works? Second It doesn’t hurt but it’s warm, like standing a little too close to a fire and the warmth from the flames engulfs your body.” She takes a breath before continuing. “And lastly no, unfortunately I cannot fly but let me tell you if I could I would never walk anywhere again.”

“Truly fascinating.” He exclaims writing everything down word for word in pristine penmanship that elegantly fills the page.

“Now how about your Thu’um? How does that work?” He inquires not looking up from the page.

She ponders his question for a moment, gnawing her bottom lip before replying.

“Every shout has three words, each making the shout more and more powerful. For example, when I breath fire I am essentially screaming Yol Toor Shul, Yol means fire, Toor means inferno, and Shul means sun.” She shrugs before adding “It’s hard to understand at first trust me.”

“That is just extraordinary, to think that the terrors of the sky we all fear are essentially just yelling at us when destroying our villages is quite humorous.” He snickers setting his journal on the table. She snickers and pulls her arms above her head and stretching her back, an awful pop echoes through her and she winces.

“Listen I hate to cut this short, but I’ve been on the road all day from Ivarstead and I would really like to get some sleep before I have head back to Whiterun tomorrow.” She says trying to stifle a yawn.

He presses him lips into a thin line and nods his head in understanding then begins to gather his things.

“You’re right, I apologize for taking too much of you time, I bid you goodnight and safe travels.” He stands from his seat, does a half bow and turns to the direction of his room. She plays with the amulet around her neck in thought for a moment before calling out to him.

“Wait!” She exclaims, quickly standing from her seat.

He stops in his tracks and turns to face her.

“What would you say to traveling with me?” She questions tilting her head to the side.

Travel with the Dragonborn? Yes! A thousand times yes! Think about all the entries that could be made! All the secrets unveiled! The life of adventure he’d been hoping for! Keeping a calm composure, he pretends to ponder her request for a moment before agreeing.

“Alright Miss Ylva, you’ve got a deal.” He replies with a toothy grin and extends his hand to her. She smiles in return and grabs his hand and shakes it with enthusiasm.

“Aye, we leave after breakfast.” She instructs with a grin.

They bid each other goodnight and he heads off to his room and she to rent one. For this is the beginning of quite the adventure for them both.

----------------------------------------------------------

Hehe I finally got around to writing when these two idiots met.

[happywitch416]

Chapter 50

Elena approached Arngeir where he knelt in quiet contemplation. She took a deep breath. “I need to learn the Shout used to defeat Alduin.”

Arngeir bolted to his feet, seething. “Where did you learn of that? Who have you been talking to?

 Elena took a step back. “I was contacted by the Blades. It was recorded on Alduin's Wall.”

“Of course.” He gave a dismissive shake of his head. “They specialize in meddling in matters they barely understand. Their reckless arrogance knows no bounds. They have always sought to turn the Dragonborn from the path of wisdom. Have you learned nothing from us? Would you simply be a tool in the hands of the Blades, to be used for their own purposes?”

Elena frowned, she was not surprised he disliked the Blades and had expected it. The words against her, however. “I want to defeat Alduin and they offered information. I fail to see how that is being used for their purposes.” She shook her head letting out a sigh. “Don’t you want Alduin defeated?”

"What I want is irrelevant." Spit flew from Arngeir's mouth in his ire. "This Shout was used once before, was it not? And here we are again. Have you considered that Alduin was not meant to be defeated?" Elena's horror was quickly replaced with a dark glare he ignored. "Those who overthrew him in ancient times only postponed the day of reckoning, they did not stop it. If the world is meant to end, so be it. Let it end and be reborn" 

"The Thu'um was the gift of Kyne, I don’t see how you have the power to decide how it’s used." She hissed. "You aren’t even a part of our world and you think you have the right to decide its fate? The least you can do is help us." 

"No. Not now. Not until you return to the path of wisdom." Another Greybeard stepped in. His voice quietly rumbled, and his words caused Arngeir to call out to Elena who was halfway to the door and seething. "Dragonborn...wait." She turned on him and for the first time, he saw the dragon blood in her eyes, a swirl of power and danger. He bowed his head. "Forgive me. I was intemperate. I allowed my emotions to cloud my judgment. Master Einarth reminded me of my duty.” He took a moment to shake out his robe and regain the rest of his composure. “The decision of whether or not to help you is not mine to make." Elena's chin lifted, her silence burning. "I cannot teach it to you because I do not know it. It is called Dragonrend, but its Words of Power are unknown to us." He folded his hands into his sleeves. "We do not regret this loss. Dragonrend holds no place within the Way of the Voice." 

"Tell that to Alduin." She took a deep breath, nostrils flaring. "What's so bad about Dragonrend?" 

"It was created by those who had lived under the unimaginable cruelty of Alduin's Dragon Cult. Their whole lives were consumed with hatred for dragons, and they poured all their anger and hatred into this Shout." 

Elena nodded. "I can’t blame them, not when he would do so again." 

Arngeir continued, ignoring her declaration. "When you learn a Shout, you take it into your very being. In a sense, you become the Shout. In order to learn and use this Shout, you will be taking this evil into yourself."

“Is their anger really so evil?” Elena reached out, some of the rigidness of her shoulders easing when Serana wrapped her hand around hers. Elena caught her eye a moment as she nodded. “It’s a risk I can accept. If the Shout is lost, how do I find it? Where do I start?” 

“Only Paarthurnax, the leader of our order, can answer that question if he so chooses.”

“Who is Paarthurnax and when can I speak to him?” She bit the inside of her cheek trying to keep the thrum of her temper reined in. 

“He is our leader. He surpasses us all in his mastery of the Way of the Voice.” When she continued to look unimpressed with their master’s credentials, his voice dropped from reverence to arrogance. “He lives in seclusion on the very peak of the mountain. He speaks to us only rarely, and never to outsiders. Being allowed to see him is a great privilege.”

She was not surprised the pupils followed the master with their behavior, the whole lot was useless. “Well good for him, but now is the time to do more than sit.”

Arngeir let out a harsh breath. “You weren't ready.” He continued very pointedly. “You still aren't ready. But thanks to the Blades, you now have questions that only Paarthurnax can answer.”

“I’ll be sure to be on my best behavior.” She rolled her eyes with a sneer. “Now how do I get to the top of the mountain to see him?” Serana squeezed her hand, and Elena swallowed hard her anger tasting like bile. She was hot, like she was standing too close to a forge and wanted out of the monastery as quickly as possible. Away from the Greybeards, away from their Way of the Voice, as far as possible. 

“Only those whose Voice is strong can find the path.” Elena took half a step forward ready to rip his arms off. “We will teach you a Shout to open the way to Paarthurnax. Follow me.”

 The freezing cold air was a relief against her burning skin, not even noticing how the others shivered in the hard wind that cut across the mountain top. She followed the Greybeards to the fire pit before the gate that blocked the way up the mountain with bated breath. She felt electric, the moment before lighting would strike, her ears muffled but full of the too sharp trill of the wind.

Arngeir gestured to the gate. “The path to Paarthurnax lies through this gate. I will show you how to open the way. Lok Vah Koor.” As he spoke the runes appeared in a blinding glow of light that everyone but Elena startled away from.

She reached out, tracing them with her fingers as she echoed the words. “Lok Vah Koor.” The air rumbled about them. Her eyes were golden when she met Arngeir’s and he nodded, she understood. 

“This is your final gift from us, Dragonborn. Use it well.” He said gravely. “Clear Skies will blow away the mist, but only for a time. The path to Paarthurnax is perilous, not to be embarked upon lightly. Keep moving, stay focused on your goal, and you will reach the summit.”

Elena placed her palms together and bowed, the golden glow still strong as she headed up the steps. Serana joined her and Elena grinned. She was blinding. “Ready?” Serana nodded breaking into a grin of her own and Elena pushed open the gate and Shouted.

Chapter 51

The summit was empty except for a lone word wall, full of faded runes. Elena ran her fingers over them, frowning. “This must be one of the first made.”

“Drem Yo Lok.” Elena and Serana spun eyes going wide as a dragon swooped down to settle on the rocks before them. They scrambled away from the word wall preferring the empty air to being trapped. “Greetings, wunduniik. I am Paarthurnax. Who are you? What brings you to my strunmah, my mountain?”

Elena shook her head trying to clear it. “You’re the master of the Greybeards?” The dragon made a sound she decided was an affirmation. Or that he was getting ready to breathe fire at them. “I was not expecting you to be a dragon.” Her brows furrowed a moment. “I should have.”

Something akin to laughter left his great maw. “I am as my father Akatosh made me. As are you, Dovahkiin.” She nodded with a swallow, the glow returning as the jagged spike of fear eased. “They see me as master. Wuth. Onik. Old and wise. It is true I am old.” That made both women smile, and it gladdened him to see them be at ease. He knew it was not an easy thing to be for the mortal races around his kind.  “Tell me. Why do you come here, volaan? Why do you intrude on my meditation?

Elena half bounced, losing her footing a moment in the deep snow. Her words left her at a gallop. “I need to learn a Shout. Can you teach me?”

“Drem. Patience.” He turned his head to fix one eye upon her. “There are formalities which must be observed, at the first meeting of two of the dov. By long tradition, the elder speaks first.” He reared up. “Hear my Thu'um! Feel it in your bones! Match it, if you are Dovahkiin! Yol Toor Shul!” Fire exploded from the dragon, covering the wall in an inferno that left Elena relieved he hadn’t decided to test that the same way the Greybeards had. She took a half step forward, the glowing runes singing to her to come closer. Paarthurnax considered her a moment. “The Word calls you. Go to it.” Any hesitancy she had disappeared, tracing her fingers along the runes, their warmth filling her mind. “A gift, Dovahkiin. Yol.” She repeated it several times quietly until it fell from her tongue with ease. “Now, show me what you can do. Greet me not as mortal, but as dovah! Do not be afraid. Faasnu. Let me feel the power of your Thu'um.”

Elena nodded, every moment of her upbringing berating her for yelling at a teacher, much less spitting fire at one. She took a deep breath, her eyes fluttering shut a moment before opening as she roared. “YOL!” Serana took a step back at the fire that left Elena, encompassing her before shooting forward to the dragon. She half expected there to be only a cinder left of her, her relief sagging her shoulders when Elena was unscathed and staring down at herself with wide eyes.

“Aaah, yes! Sossedov los mul. The dragon blood runs strong in you.” Paarthurnax’s tail twitched. “It is long since I had the pleasure of speech with one of my own kind. So. You have made your way here, to me. No easy task for a joor, mortal. Even for one of Dovah Sos. Dragon blood. What would you ask of me?”

“Everything.” Elena shook her head with a grin that quickly disappeared. “Can you teach me Dragonrend?”

“Ah.” He stretched his wings a moment and settled more comfortably, his claws gouging the rocks beneath him. “I have expected you. Prodah. You would not come all this way for tinvaak with an old dovah. No. You seek your weapon against Alduin.”

“How did you know?” Elena’s head cocked to the side wondering why he hadn’t flown down the damn mountain to find her, a bare internal wince at how well that would have gone over.

“Alduin komeyt tiid. What else would you seek? Alduin and Dovahkiin return together. But I do not know the Thu'um you seek. Krosis. It cannot be known to me.” He continued gently. “Your kind, joorre, mortals  created it as a weapon against the dov, the dragons. Our hadrimme, our minds cannot even comprehend its concepts.”

“That’s not unreasonable.” She had wilted a little. “Do you know how I could find it?”

“Drem. All in good time.” Elena took a few deep breaths, willing herself into patience. Paarthurnax waited, she was not his first hasty student. “First, a question for you. Why do you want to learn this Thu'um?”

Elena stared at him blankly a moment before letting out a short laugh. “I like this world; I don’t want it to end. Not for me, or my girls, or anyone else.”

His massive dragon head nodded. “Pruzah. As good a reason as any. There are many who feel as you do, although not all. Some would say that all things must end, so that the next can come to pass. Perhaps this world is simply the Egg for the next kalpa? Lein vokiin? Would you stop the next world from being born?” He asked curiously and watched her as she thought.

Finally, she spoke with a shrug. “The next world will have to take care of itself.”

Another roaring chuckle left him. “Paaz. A fair answer. Ro fus, maybe you only balance the forces at work to quicken the end of this world. Even we who ride the currents of Time cannot see past Time's end. Wuldsetiid los tahrodiis. Those who try to hasten the end, may delay it. Those who work to delay the end, may bring it closer.” He grew silent for a time, deep in thought. “But you have indulged my weakness for speech long enough. Krosis. Now I will answer your question. Do you know why I live here, at the peak of the Monahven, what you name Throat of the World?”

“This is the most sacred mountain in Skyrim. Its highest peak.” Her head tilted a moment. “It’s sacred to Kyne, who bid you teach mortals the Thu’um.”

“Yes.” He was pleased. “Zok revak strunmah. The great mountain of the world. Here the ancient Tongues, the first mortal masters of the Voice, brought Alduin to battle and defeated him.”

“Really? Using Dragonrend?” She looked about them, maybe somewhere under the snow was evidence of a battle long past but, it looked like a mountain peak. No different except for the wind that hummed warmly around her.

“Yes and no. Viik nuz ni kron. Alduin was not truly defeated, either. If he was, you would not be here today, seeking to defeat him.” She nodded listening intently. “The Nords of those days used the Dragonrend Shout to cripple Alduin. But this was not enough. Ok mulaag unslaad.  It was the Kel, the Elder Scroll. They used it to cast him adrift on the currents of Time.”

“They sent him here?”

“Not intentionally. Some hoped he would be gone forever, forever lost. Meyye.” He grumbled. “I knew better. Tiid bo amativ. Time flows ever onward. One day he would surface. Which is why I have lived here. For thousands of mortal years, I have waited. I knew where he would emerge but not when.” She stared at him expectantly. “Tiid krent. Time was...shattered here because of what the ancient Nords did to Alduin. If you brought that Kel, that Elder Scroll back here to the Tiid-Ahraan, the Time-Wound. With the Elder Scroll that was used to break Time, you may be able to cast yourself back. To the other end of the break. You could learn Dragonrend from those who created it.”

Elena’s mouth formed a small o even as Serana joined her passing over the dragon scroll. “Good thing you trusted your gut.” Elena gave her a bewildered smile but took it gently. 

“You have it. The Kel, the Elder Scroll.” His whole form shuddered. “Tiid kreh...qalos. Time shudders at its touch. There is no question. You are doom-driven. Kogaan Akatosh. The very bones of the earth are at your disposal. Go then.”’ He nodded towards a spot on the mountain. “Fulfill your destiny. Take the Scroll to the Time-Wound.  Do not delay. Alduin will be coming. He cannot miss the signs.”

“Make sure I don’t fall off the mountain.” She whispered to Serana who nodded. Elena stepped away and opened the scroll.

Chapter 52

The world was still swimming when Elena returned to the present, Dragonrend still screaming in her head like something sick and twisted. It hurt, unlike every other Shout she had learned, her stomach trying to heave itself from her body. She thought her vision was broken but then the dark blur roared.

“Bahloki nahkip sillesejoor. My belly is full of the souls of your fellow mortals, Dovahkiin.” Alduin roared down at her. “Die now and await your fate in Sovngarde!

Paarthurnax took to the sky above them as Serana ducked for cover. “Los funt. You are too late, Alduin!” 

“Suleyki mulaag, Paarthurnax. My power has waxed, while yours has waned.” Alduin taunted him. 

“Dovahkiin!”

 The name roared through the sky pulling Elena back into her own bones, the darkness boiling out of her as she screamed. “JOOR ZAH FRUL!”

Alduin fell, he fell at her feet and she laughed, wild and blazing Elder Scroll tossed in the snow as she pulled back on her bow. “Unslaad hakoron! Never again!” Paarthrunax roared above them.

Alduin hissed up at him “You will pay for your defiance!” He turned his dark eyes on Elena then. “You may have picked up the weapons of my ancient foe, but you are not their equal!”

Elena grinned. “No, I am Dragonborn.” And let fly her arrows.

 Alduin managed to pull himself up, wings barely holding him. “Meyz mul, Dovahkiin. You have become strong.” Elena’s throat hurt, words falling silently on her tongue as she continued to fire arrows into him, some stuck along his wings, a few more along his jaw. He roared, rage slamming through her. “But I am Al-du-in, firstborn of Akatosh! Mulaagi zok lot! I cannot be slain here, by you or anyone else! You cannot prevail against me. I will outlast you, mortal!” He took off over the mountain and Elena scrambled to the edge arrows still flying only to fall in empty air.

“Coward! Firstborn of shame! COME BACK HERE AND FIGHT!” The knowledge that her regular voice still worked just further flamed her anger.                                                      

Paarthurnax landed beside her, the wind of his wings making her unsteady. “Lot krongrah. You truly have the Voice of a dovah. Alduin's allies will think twice after this victory.”

“It wasn't really a victory.” She pointed her bow in the direction Alduin had gone with a snarl. 

“Ni liivrah hin moro. True, this is not the final krongrah, victory.” He pointed out calmly. “But not even the heroes of old were able to defeat Alduin in open battle. Alduin always was pahlok, arrogant in his power. Uznahgar paar. He took domination as his birthright. This should shake the loyalty of the dov who serve him.” When he realized she was too caught in the battle still roaring in her veins he provided the idea he was hinting at. “One of his allies could tell us. Motmahus. But it will not be easy to convince one of them to betray him. Perhaps the hofkahsejun, the palace in Whiterun, Dragonsreach. It was originally built to house a captive dovah. A fine place to trap one of Alduin's allies, hmm?”

Elena froze, not realizing she had been shaking out of her own skin before letting out a short laugh. “The Jarl of Whiterun might not think so.”

“Yes. But your su'um is strong. I do not doubt that you can convince him of the need.”

She nodded but froze again all color leaving her face. “Serana.” She half squeaked, turning back to the word wall only for Serana to wave at her with a grin. Her chin fell to her chest a moment with a sheepish grin. “So.” She cleared her throat as she turned back to gaze out from the mountain. “Dragonsreach was built to hold a dragon?”

“Yes.” He rumbled a moment searching for words in her tongue. “This was ages ago, you understand. There were more of us then. Before the bruniikke, the Akaviri, came and killed all my zeymah. I used to visit him from time to time.” His large head shook gently, sorrow and pity filling his voice for a moment. “Nearly crazed by loneliness and captivity. Tiiraz sivaas. He did not even remember his own name. I do not know how he came to be caught. But the bronjun, the Jarl, was very proud of his pet. Paak! The hofkahsejun has been known as Dragonsreach ever since.”

“That’s cruel.” He tilted his head to stare down at the woman. She was staring into the distance, brow furrowed. He wondered how many more times she would surprise him. 

Elena was quiet on the way back to High Hrothgar, twisting the puzzle of how to catch a dragon in her mind. Knowing the dragon’s name, Odahviing, was a start. Learning that their names, like Dovahkiin, were words of power cleared some confusion for her. The tug she felt in her chest when someone uttered the word Dovahkiin. She only hoped Odahviing did not have the same ability to ignore a call like she did.  

 Arngeir met them at the gate, half frantic. “Alduin, we heard the Dragonrend Shout from here. You defeated him?”

Elena shook her head. “He escaped. I need to find out where he went.”

He nodded. “The old tales say that he is able to travel into Sovngarde to devour the souls of the dead.” Elena’s face went stark with horror. “But they don't say how he does this.”

“Paarthurnax suggested I ask Jarl Balgruuf for use of Dragonsreach.” 

“Do as you must.” He called after them. “Wind guide you, Dragonborn.”

Chapter 53

Elena felt vaguely ashamed of her sneaking out of Whiterun previously. She hoped it did not hurt her case now as she stood before the throne, one arm folded neatly into the small of her back in an attempt to relieve some of the ride from her spine. “I need to trap a dragon in your palace.

Balgruuf let out a bark of laughter staring at her like she had suggested they dance naked with giants. “I must have misheard you. I thought you asked me to help you trap a dragon in my palace.”

“I am serious.” The mirth drained from his face. “I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important.”

“Of course.” He nodded thoughtfully, lounging more comfortably in his throne while his fingers ran through his beard. “You already saved Whiterun from a dragon. I owe you a great deal. But I don't understand. Why let a dragon into the heart of my city when we've been working so hard to keep them out?”

Elena stared him down, chin lifting. “Alduin has returned.” The hall fell silent, nothing but the crackling of the flames behind her.

Balgruuf swallowed hard trying to find the right words. "Alduin? The World-Eater himself? But how can we fight him? Doesn't his return mean it's the end times?"

"Maybe so, but I plan to go down fighting." Elena's head tilted to watch him, a glimmer of a dare in her eyes. "What about you?"

He chuckled. "Spoken like a true Nord." He steepled his fingers tapping them together and ignored the prattling of his steward. Finally, he nodded. "I'll stand beside you, Dragonborn.  Now, what's this nonsense about trapping a dragon in my palace?"

"Dragon's names are shouts. I'll Shout and the dragon will come to accept the challenge." A half-smile crept onto her face. "The one I plan to call is brash and acts before he thinks." Her smile grew. "A perfect trap, and then he will have no choice but to negotiate with us. If we can turn Alduin's allies against him, we stand a chance."

"I want to help you, Dragonborn. And I will." He let out a haggard sigh, elbows falling to his knees as he stared at her. "But I need your help first. Ulfric and General Tullius are both just waiting for me to make a wrong move. Do you think they will sit idle a dragon is slaughtering my men and burning my city?" She shook her head, heart sinking. "No. I can't risk weakening the city while we are under the threat of enemy attack."

She swallowed hard with a nod. "What can I do to help?"

"End this damned war."

Chapter 54

Elena had been quiet the entire ride to Solitude, the light she had gained dimming with every mile that passed beneath Ajax’s hooves. The wind that had begun to follow them died as Solitude came into sight, replaced with a grim set of Elena’s shoulders.

Sofie saw them first. “You’re home!” She flung herself at Elena, bringing a smile to the woman’s face for a moment as she hugged her back. The hug she tackled Serana with was just as strong. “I am glad you came home too, Serana.” The look on Elena’s face froze Serana to the spot, a barely comprehensible greeting left her mouth as Sofie was skipping off and dragging Elena along. Serana watched after them a moment, Elena’s eyes had been empty, a happy half-smile on her face, but her eyes. She shivered. She didn’t know how she was going to fix it, but she would.

 Elena got the girls to bed and headed out to the porch with her sketchbook. She had felt Serana’s eyes on her all evening and was not surprised when she stepped out to join her not long after. The charcoal was still a little long, too new to be comfortable yet, but it made the lines all the same, something to look at when she could not look up. “You are not going to Dour then.”

“No.” She answered softly, another arch forming on the paper. “I am not going to Dour.”

"Why?" Serana asked, hands on her hips and eyes flashing.

“Because the Blades have Delphine. Because the Greybeards have Paarthurnax. The Empire has the Legion, Jarl Balgruuf has Whiterun, and Ulfric has his Stormcloaks.” She added softly, calmly, unlike her heart that was thundering in her ears like battle drums. “Nobody really needs me, and I intended to keep it that way.”

“But you.” Serana’s brows furrowed incredulously. “What about the dragons?”

“What’s peace to the World Eater? The End of Times? What’s the point of finishing a war when the world is ending?" Her panicked voice grew in pitch, pleading. "War never ends, Serana. It bleeds and it bleeds until there’s nothing left, and then it burns the fields.” She set aside the sketchbook, charcoal falling off it and on to the ground. “I am not a hero. I thought I could do this.” Her fingers tightened white-knuckled around each other a moment before forcing them to unclench, panic surging in her throat and twisting through her like knives. “If it was just dragons, maybe I could.”

“You helped me.” Elena stared at the charcoal on her fingers, gently pressing them together until they were all smudged black. “You were in the Legion, what’s one more?”

“One more what exactly?” Elena didn't like the laugh that bubbled out her throat, how her insides caught on her breath. "I am sick of fighting. Every time I turn around someone is depending on me to fix something and fixing it always involves killing. Kill the dragons, kill the Stormcloaks, kill the fucking sun." Her face fell into her hands, swaying in her seat. She swallowed hard, closing her eyes didn’t stop the images in her head. "The last real battle I fought with the Legion; I was pulling my arrows out of children. The true sons and daughters of Skyrim he calls them. Most were lucky, dead before we took the field, dead before we had to hand them over to the Thalmor and their Justicars.” The soft broken noise that left her had Serana reaching forward but her hand fell when she continued to speak. “I found a boy, not even old enough to grow scruff on his chin. He was Sofie’s age. He should have been at home, helping his pa on the farm. Not with a sword in his hand, not in battle. Not begging me to kill him before the elves came to take him like they did his brother." 

The silence hung heavy in the air. "Did you?"

"No." Came the answer, soft and empty. "It was a shoulder wound. I thought he's a child. They'll throw him in some orphanage or enlist him and drum the ideals of the empire into his head and he'll survive. He." Her breath caught but her head finally rose to meet Serana's eyes. "We listened to them murder them." Her voice shook, fear sharpening the angles of her face. "It took hours, Serana. Hours of screaming while they tortured them for information that was in the saddlebags of their captain, who died before he could see what he led children into." She rubbed her hands on her trousers, the soft leather smooth under her fingers as she tried to rub the feelings out of them. After several long silent moments, her voice was steady. "No. I do not want to go back out into this war. A petty pissing match where the local hero throws babies at the evil empire. The Alder Dominion might be shit but is it worth the deaths of our children. Is a god worth all this death?” She stood and went to the wall, stared out over the sea. “I joined the Legion to be a hero. The only heroes in war are the victorious dead. What they want is a hero. And I am no hero. I am no Ysmir.” Her voice grew harsh as her arms crossed. “You don’t ask a soldier to make peace. I don’t even know how. The only way I know to end this war is with death.”

“Then you can’t use Dragonsreach to catch a dragon.” Elena huffed at that. “What if one comes here again? What about your girls?” Elena turned on her then, half hissing. “You could stop it from ever coming here, they need you. The girls, Skyrim, everyone.” The last word was so soft Elena missed it. “Me.”

“What they need is a mother! I am a terrible one!” Serana froze at that; in all the time she had known her, Elena had never yelled and she felt the regret that flashed across Elena’s face like it was her own. “They deserve so much better than what I have given them. I could go save the world, or whatever the fuck you are asking me to do, I could never come back. I could be different again. More broken, more death, more blood and nightmares.” Her voice cracked as she started to pace but gave up heading for the stairs. There wasn’t enough room, too much stone, too little wind, too few trees. “What they need is a mother and a better one than I am.” 

Serana reached out, hand gentle on her arm as she went to storm past. “I didn’t. I’m sorry, Elena.”

“Me too.” She answered quietly before shaking her hand off. “Because you deserve better too.”

 Elena was gone, disappeared into the dark when the door creaked open. “Mama?” Serana took a deep breath before she turned to Runa. “Where is she?” Distrust immediately set into the grim line of the girl’s mouth below the suspicious glare.

“She.” Serana knelt, tucking some wild hair behind the girl’s ear. “Your mama had to go think.”

Runa nodded. “I’ll go check on her.” She went to leave and Serana’s hand gripped her arm. The girl gave her an arched look. “She’s at the Temple. It's where she always goes.” When Serana didn’t, couldn’t say anything, she nodded. “Alright. But if she’s not home by morning, I am going to get her.”

 Elena didn’t return by morning. Serana spent most of it staring at the door willing her to walk back through it. The sun rose and she slipped out the door, headed to the Temple before the girls even stirred for the day. Maga saw her as she entered the courtyard and waved. “Have you seen Elena?” 

Maga nodded, brows furrowing. Serana looked exhausted, deep in her bones and full of sorrows. Maga was going to have a talk with her eldest idiot, she finally had found a good woman and Elena was acting a fool. “She spent all night in the garden, communing with Kyne.” When Serana went to step away, Maga reached out gently. “She’s not there now.”

“Then where?” The doors to Castle Dour slammed open, cutting her off.

“Tribune!” A man called, leading forth a horse. Serana recognized him immediately, Ajax, which meant.

“Legate now.” Elena threw herself on to the back of the horse, sword at her hip and a regulation bow across her back.  

“Legate Songschild.” The man laughed, giving a proud slap to her leg. “Where are you headed?” 

She took a helmet being offered to her and settled it firmly on her head. “Going to end this stupid war, and bring Ulfric’s head back on a pike.” She wrapped her hands in the reins. “Ya!” Ajax got his feet under him and they were gone, the wind howling down the mountain with an icy bite.

Legate Rikke crossed the courtyard to them at a trot. “Maga? Did you know she was joining up again?” Maga shook her head, growing more concerned when Rikke started to swear. “She went right to Tullius then, damned fool.”

“Where is she headed?” Rikke studied Serana a moment, she had seen her with Elena often, but Elena wasn’t much for discussing her personal life when she was at the castle. But if Elena trusted her to stay in the same house as her girls.

“He sent her after the Jagged Crown.”

Chapter 55

Elena blinked, willing her eyes to be lying as Serana ripped apart a Stormcloak with her magic, a shining bow useless on her back, and headed right for the ambush Elena was trying to sneak around. She sprang from cover with a curse. “Down!” Serana dropped, covering her head as Elena slammed the bow into the back of one’s head and caught the short sword of the other with her vambrace. It shuddered through her bones, but it didn't slow her, dropping the bow and slamming her fist into their face. She followed through taking them to the ground with a sharp crack that she barely acknowledged as she drug Serana into an alcove. 

Elena gave her shake, panic making her voice sharp. “What are you doing here?”

She was breathing heavy, Elena’s bow strapped to her back. “Can’t you just be happy to see me?”

Elena softened; shoulders still tense but a half-smile appeared. “You know I am.” She gave her another shake. “You need to pay attention and not run headlong into traps.” A huff of laughter left her at Serana’s mock offense. She peered around the edge of the alcove listening hard, other than their breathing it was silent. She sank down to the floor, back slumping against the wall before fixing Serana with an arched look. “As happy as I am to see you, how did you find me?”

“Rikke and your mother.” Elena winced; she deserved every ounce of venom in Serana’s voice she knew but that did not make it easier. “Did you plan all night to just leave without telling us or was it a last-minute moment of being an idiot?”

“Serana…”

“No.” Serana joined her cross-legged on the floor, cheeks flushed and fingers curling around the bow after she pulled it from behind her. The stalhrim glowed like ice lit from within and thrummed in her hands. She had ridden halfway across Skyrim trying to convince herself that she was not going to strangle her especially after promising the girls she’d bring Elena home in one piece, her fingers tightened until they were white-knuckled against the bow. “Why didn’t you say goodbye?”

Elena’s shoulders slumped as her gaze fell to the floor. “I did.” She said quietly, eyes closing at the sharp hiss. “I told the girls goodbye.” She swallowed hard. “Their bedroom windows are an easy reach from the wall. Meant as a safety measure.” She sunk lower into herself, longed for a moment for the ground to open up and swallow her. 

“And why not me?” Serana’s voice was soft, but there was a dagger of ice in it.

Elena licked her lips, mouth going dry. “Because I had disappointed you enough.” She leaned back against the wall again, drawing her knees up as she finally met Serana’s eyes. “I.” She swallowed back tears, but her gaze was steady. “I should have never yelled, and I can never apologize enough for it. But.” The corner of her mouth turned up a moment. “Perhaps taking off across the province without saying anything at all was the worst of my decisions.”

“Perhaps.” Serana agreed coolly.

Elena settled her chin on her knees and studied her. Dark hair obscured part of her face, her brows furrowed in a deep frown, she was gazing at her hands that kept twisting around the bow. It was then Elena realized Serana was still wearing the circlet from her jewelry box and she wondered how she hadn’t noticed until Serana looked up and those amber eyes met hers. “I am not asking you to forgive me, Serana.” She had spent half the long journey here trying to find a way to apologize and none of it was worthy. “I am not even sure I deserve it. But I’m.” She stuttered a moment, eyes burning. “I am not a hero, and that’s what they need. And what you and the girls deserve.”

“I don’t care about that, Rikke said this was a suicide mission, that you turned down soldiers accompanying you. And you left your bow.” She shook it at her as Elena nodded. “Did you.” Serana’s eyes closed for a moment. “Did you come here not planning to come back?”

Elena was quiet for a long time, studying the scratches on the leather bracer she wore under her vambrace. It needed replacing, had needed it. She’d put it off time and time again because she was retiring. She was going to be home, could take her time picking out one that was as fancy as it was functional. “Maybe.” Her voice was so soft, almost lost in the motionless air. “I don’t know anymore. I feel like I can’t escape this no matter what I do.”

“Then stop running.” Elena looked up at her blinking owlishly and Serana shook her head. “You taught me to be brave. And you saved the world once, what’s two more times?” A soft chuckle left Elena, hand coming up to wipe away tears. “You stood on a mountain and called the World Eater a coward.”

“I did.” Another huff left her, her smile breaking softly through the emptiness that had frozen her face. “I wouldn’t, couldn’t have done any of it without you.” Serana started to protest and Elena gently reached out. “It’s true, Serana.�� Serana took her offered hand and Elena’s legs relaxed until she was cross-legged, their knees touching as she searched Serana’s face. She reached out and took the bow to set it aside. “I would have stayed in my guard rotation in Solitude, probably be guard captain by now. My life would be boring.” They both laughed a little before she continued earnestly. “But you, that’s not good enough anymore. Just being that. I want more, for the girls, for me...for you.” She leaned forward resting her forehead against Serana’s and let her eyes fall closed as she took steady breaths. “But by the winds, I am terrified.”

“Of what?”

“Failing. Wanting.” Her throat went dry. “Of not being good enough for something better. That I can never escape being a soldier, never be something different.” She pulled away, eyes opening with a shake of her head. “That I have done this all wrong and you could never love me back.” Serana stopped breathing, thinking, all of it. Elena’s eyes darted watching her face before slowly speaking again. “I love you.”

Of all the things Elena had expected, Serana throwing herself bodily at her, hands tangling in her hair to kiss her breathless, was not the one she had counted on. Serana laughed against her lips before pulling away, eyes wide with wonder and joy. “I love you too.” Elena’s fingers trailing along her cheek, she was glowing and weightless. “You ever do something like this again and I will reanimate your corpse so you can tell the girls why their mama is an idiot.”

Elena’s forehead came to rest on her shoulder, her laugh shaking her whole body. “You would.” 

“You’re still an idiot.” Serana gently tugged on her hair until she looked up and kissed her again. “But you are my idiot.”

A clatter pulled Serana from her arms and Elena was on her feet, hand searching for her bow while she watched the hall before them. Nothing else moved and after watching with held breath for several heartbeats. a skeever scurried across nosing past the fallen Stormcloaks before disappearing. Elena’s shoulders slumped with a heavy sigh. She met Serana’s eyes over her shoulder. “As much as I would like to continue kissing you, even if you are calling me an idiot.” Serana just grinned. “I am here for a reason.”

“Well, now you have backup.” Elena offered her the Legion bow and Serana shook her head. Elena left it in the alcove, her own bow settling between her shoulders where it belonged.

“You are not back up.” Elena shook her head with a huff of laughter as she led the way deeper into the tomb. “I am not field inducting you into the Legion. You’re…” She grinned back at her mischievously. “A distraction mostly.” Laughing she ducked away from Serana who was grinning too. 

“Any chance you think that one’s not going to wake up?” Elena whispered carefully watching the draugr seated on the throne, the jagged crown stuck to its ancient skull.

“It has what you need, of course it will.”

Elena laughed softly and gently eased back the string of her bow, releasing it when she exhaled. A few colorful curses followed when it stood up anyway but between her arrows and Serana’s magic it never stood a chance. 

 Her fingers wrapped around the crown, but it wouldn’t budge until she set her boot into the draugr’s shoulder and used both hands to yank it off, half stumbling backward. She held it up, inspecting it with a narrow gaze. “Hmm.”

“It’s not fake is it?” They both made a face thinking about the horn before Elena shook her head. 

“No. See these?” Her finger ran along the jagged tooth jutting upward. “Dragon’s teeth.” She shrugged. “It’s not like there are many things made with those or their bones.” She tapped the crown. “I expected it to be heavier.” 

They set to backtracking to find the way out. “Why is it important?” Serana asked.

“Well.” Elena hopped down over the edge of a platform and helped her down after her. “They say it contains a portion of the power of every king that has worn it.” Her head tilted back and forth, chewing the inside of her lip. “I don’t think it has any actual powers. It's more the symbol.”

“Like the horn.” Elena nodded as Serana shook her head with a scowl. “There are a lot of Nord things that are important that don’t do anything.”

Elena choked on her air, gasping as she coughed. “It’s the thought.” She rasped out. “Barbarian.” Serana just grinned. Once Elena regained her composure, she shook her head. “It’s been missing since the first Era, King Borgas. It was thought lost when he was killed in the Wild Hunt.”

“What’s the Wild Hunt?” 

“Bosmer they.” Elena searched for the right words. “In times of desperation the Bosmer invoke the Wild Hunt, it changes them.”

“And not in a good way.”

“No, it sounds terrifying. Demons and monsters flooding across the land destroying everything in its path until it runs out of things to destroy.” She shivered. “It’s not something they talk about often, I can’t say I blame them.” She shoved open the door, the burst of Skyrim wind swirling the snow around them. “Borgas had it coming.” Serana gave her an arched look and she shrugged with a half grin. “I would be upset if someone decided it was time to murder my entire people.” She sobered a moment. “The disappearance of him and the crown led to a war of succession and now it’s being used to end this one.”

“Do you think it will work?” Serana bumped her shoulder against hers. 

“No, but at least Elisif will look a bit more intimidating when she wears it.”

A Warrior’s Heart

[tastesoftamriel]

Into Oblivion, part 4 (a long tale by Talviel)

We looked toward the path. “Lass, better idea. Let’s climb up those rocks and skip the path altogether. I’ve got an uneasy feeling about it.” I nodded, and we scaled the rocks easily, after years of thieving. Creeping along and looking down, the area was clear so far. A few meters along, I spotted an odd cocoon-like shape dangling in a small alcove. “Bryn, look. The journal mentioned those things and how they usually contain valuable treasure.” “Lass, as I said, we don’t know the terrain and I don’t want to stir up any trouble with the locals, let’s-” “The High King wants treasure, and if we’ve come all this way, so do I.” I said decisively, and not waiting for a response, leapt down towards the pod. I slashed it open and gagged on the foul stench that emanated from it, but grinned when I found my reward. Gold, gems, some valuable jewellery, and an expensive-looking yet pleasingly lightweight enchanted helmet lay on the ground scattered with bones. I shoved them into the sack slung over my shoulder, signalling to Brynjolf that I’d be right up. All of a sudden, I heard heavy thudding footsteps rushing towards me at an alarming pace. “Lass, look out!” Brynjolf screamed, as I turned around to see some sort of gigantic frilled reptile running on its hind legs toward me. I swore and drew my sword, unable to use the Thu'um to push it away.

I ducked as the creature’s gaping maw lurched toward me, and snapped shut where my head had been just a moment ago. I stabbed low and hard at its abdomen, and it let out an infernal shriek and kicked me backwards with its strong hind legs. I stumbled, and it came towards me again. I aimed my sword at its neck, when all of a sudden I heard Brynjolf yell “Incoming!” and the creature’s head split in two. It wobbled briefly, and fell to the ground. “What in tarnation were you thinking, Vi?” he shouted at me, reeling slightly from the force of the jump. “You almost got yourself killed and we’ve only been here a moment!” “I’m sorry Bryn, that was stupid and spontaneous of me. I won’t do it again. But look!” I opened the sack to show him my loot. He whistled under his breath. “Damn right you won’t be doing it again. We spot a pod, we go down together next time, understand? I don’t know what else we’ll find, but that alone is worth at least 5000 septims, which I’m sure the High King won’t miss if we keep this up.” I nodded in agreement, and we climbed the rock wall again.

Brynjolf vigilantly kept his eyes open for any danger, while I kept my eyes trained on the path for any more pods. Luckily for us, there were was one every couple of hundred meters, and along the way we only needed to dispatch a single storm atronach and a few scamps while collecting valuable loot. So far so good. The path came to an abrupt end at the mouth of a cave, sealed by a door. Brynjolf and I glanced at each other and leapt down, blades drawn.

We pushed the stone door open, and thankfully it was smooth and didn’t make a grating sound to alert anything inside. We slipped in, crouching and sticking to the shadows as we tried to navigate the cave. All of a sudden, an ominous voice rang out, and I heard the distinctive sound of an atronach being conjured. “I know you’re here, scum. You can’t hide from me.” Brynjolf put a finger to his lips and stopped creeping, hoping that the dremora would go away. The loud stomping and groaning of a frost atronach made its way towards us, the dremora in tow. I smashed angrily at the atronach with my blade, which was enchanted with a burning spell, and it crumbled within seconds. Brynjolf was fighting off the dremora, which was frighteningly quick and cunning with a blade. I ran in to help him, and we cornered the dremora with its back facing a small pool of lava. It laughed, swiping at us with one long blow, and Brynjolf ducked and simultaneously kicked it into the lava, which was deeper than we’d anticipated. It gurgled briefly before incinerating. “Well, that takes care of that.” He said, out of breath.

We returned to creeping along the walls of the corridors, running into more scamps and a spider daedra, which we picked off easily. For our efforts though, a few more pods hung on the ceiling and we smiled as we scooped the precious loot into our sacks. “If this keeps up, lass, the High King isn’t going to have a clue if we give him just a quarter of it.” He grinned. I held up a disgusting-looking breastplate made of what looked like human skin and bone. “Well, as long as we keep finding shiny things instead of crap like this. There’s another door over there, but before we head out let’s look at the map I drew again.” We leaned over the sheaf of parchment, and I pulled out the map. “Right, the next thing should be a tower called a ‘Spindle Shrine’, whatever that means.” Referring to my notes, they said to expect a number of enemies, but that we could replenish our health at ‘blood fountains’. Brynjolf made a retching noise as he read it. “I hope that doesn’t mean it’s literally a fountain of blood.” He moaned. I adjusted my armour and the strap of my loot sack, then looked at him. “Ready to go?” He nodded, and we cautiously pushed the door open.

We found ourselves back out in the open, with a daedroth along the short path with its back turned towards us. Brynjolf used the Guild signal for ‘run’, and we sprinted to the tower in front of us as quickly as we could, slamming the door behind us. “I hope that thing can’t open doors.” Brynjolf panted, as we pressed against the door and hoped the angry pounding on the outside would go away. Thankfully, it subsided after some moments, evidently having a short attention span. Unfortunately for us, the noise had awakened a few monsters, including another daedroth that we’d just narrowly escaped. “Ah, fuck.” I grumbled, standing back-to-back with Brynjolf. “Bryn, you take the ones on the left side, I’ll take the ones on the right.” “Aye, lass.” He said, and we ran forward in opposite directions, our weapons drawn and ready. I feverishly lunged towards two spider daedra, jumping over their small clones that I’d read would paralyse upon contact, which could be fatal for me. I beheaded one and impaled the other, then froze a flame atronach with a partial Thu'um to save my breath.

I ran towards Brynjolf, who was flailing at the daedroth in annoyance. “This fucking thing won’t die!” He yelled at me. “Get out of the way!” I called out, and he nimbly ducked and rolled to the side. I steadied myself, then shouted “Yol Toor Shul!” at the creature. It screamed as it was set alight, and Brynjolf and I took the opportunity to stab through its thick hide as many times as we could. Eventually, it fell to the ground, its corpse still burning. “Why did I get the big angry lizard thing?” Brynjolf asked, blood running down his cheek from a gash on his forehead. “Daedroth,” I corrected him. “And Brynjolf, you’re the big strong hero man that saves me, the poor damsel in distress.” “Fuck off, lass. You’re a thousand times more capable than half of the Imperial army assembled at once. Well, even though you’re bleeding.” “You’re bleeding too, my hero.” I laughed, and went to investigate the corridors where the monsters had emerged from. A single pod hung from the ceiling, and at the far end of the corridor stood what I only imagined could be a blood fountain. Curious, I went to stick a finger in, then thought better of it. “Nope.” I muttered, and swilled a mouthful from a bottle of a potion of healing instead. Brynjolf stared at the fountain with distaste, before motioning for me to pass the bottle. We cut down the pod at the opposite end of the room, whooping as fine gold jewellery and polished diamonds fell out.

We climbed to the top of the tower, and were faced with what looked like two heavy control switches. They were heavily rusted, and it took both of us to pull them down one at a time. Loud grinding noises echoed through the tower and the walls shook. “I don’t know what we just did, but judging by the size of those levers I sure hope it’s that big fat gate we saw when we landed.” “If it is, let’s turn back through that cave, go back along the path, and we have our destination.” Brynjolf said. We descended the tower once more and headed back to the cave door, the daedroth outside thankfully gone. We pushed and shoved at the door, only to realise with dismay that it was stuck. “Shit, this place is working against us.” Brynjolf swore. “No way but forward I guess. Come on, Vi.” We went back inside the Spindle Shrine, opening the door that we’d ignored earlier. Hot wind lashed our faces, and we were faced with a long stone bridge, broken in the middle and too far to jump across. Brynjolf opened his sack and pulled out a long coil of rope and one of the enchanted hooks the Guild used to climb basically anywhere with security.

“Mind your head, lass.” Brynjolf warned me, and I stepped back a few paces as he assembled the rope and hook with a tight knot, then swung the rope over his head several times before throwing it to the other side. He tugged it a few times to check that it was fully secure, then waved me over to grab on tight to the rope. “I fucking hate doing this.” I moaned, squeezing my eyes shut. “Are you kidding me? This is one of the best parts about thieving! Now hold tight, we jump on three.” He said, amusement in his voice. “One…two…three!” Brynjolf shouted as he pushed us off the ledge. I screamed as we swung into open air, my hands and legs clinging for dear life onto the rope. With my eyes still closed, I began to inch my way up, hoping that it would be a short distance. I felt strong hands grip me by the arms and lift me up onto the bridge. “Bloody hell lass, they probably heard that scream all the way in Sovngarde.” He spluttered with laughter, undoing the hook and throwing the equipment back inside the bag. I pouted and turned to the door in front of us.

“Map time.” I said, digging out my parchment again. “Right. From that awful jump, it looks like we bypassed the equally awful sounding ‘Blood Well’ and ‘Caverns of the Abused’, probably missing out on some nice loot but saving our lives and time in the process. We should now be facing ‘Sigil Keep’. It’s apparently infested with dremora and other not-so-nice things, so I suggest we take a breather before heading on.” I said. We sat on the broken bridge, sharpening and recharging our blades and the hook with soul gems for the journey ahead, and I shared a potion of extreme stamina with Brynjolf to energise us. He stood up when he was ready, and pulled me to my feet. He pulled me in tight and kissed me. “Lass, thanks to you we just might make it.” He whispered in my ear, holding me tight. “Don’t hex it, we’ve still a way to go yet.” I replied, giving him a squeeze. We pushed the Sigil Keep door open and crept inside.

End of part 4

[theotherrookie]

Do a trick! For Fae and Rook

Now, you may be wondering why there’s two Rooks standing there, approx two meters from each other, wearing the same clothes and with the same mischievous grin. No, Rook didn’t get cloned again, one of them is simply Fae disguised.

Don’t worry. They will stop mirroring each other in a moment. Rook is about to show off one of her most recently acquired abilities.

Taking a deep breath, Rook puts on her stance and grins. “Yol..Toor..Shul!”

The Skyrim reference is unnecessary to unleash her fire breath, but that’s Rook for ya.

Rook’s flames are however abruptly cut off by an energy beam.

“Two can play this game, Birdie.” Fae has dropped her disguise and is wiggling her still glowing finger. She doesn’t use her Photokinesis often, but her aim is still great.

[koko-poco-blog]

Who We Are Chapter 2: Escape- Run

If you see any errors or mistakes, please let me know!

Enjoy!! :)

-Koko

If you like the story, don’t forget to like and reblog!

Title: Who We Are

Genre: Action/Adventure, Romance, Crossover FanFiction: Hetalia x Skyrim

Rating: SFW ( Note: some material may be NSFW and will tagged as such)

Synopsis: “Sometimes life puts you in difficult circumstances you didn’t choose. But being happy or unhappy is a choice you make, and I’ve chosen to make the best of things that I can.”

Ludwig had just been arrested in an ambush, almost executed, and escaped a dragon attack through a collapsing tunnel-way.  Now he’s been told that he’s the legendary Dragonborn and must stop an ancient dragon from devouring the world. Feliciano is an enchanter, mage, and an apprentice in the Temple of Kynareth in Whiterun who wishes to find what he’s missing in his life. After a chance meeting, together these two will begin their long journey to save the world and find the answers that they’ve sought, though they may end up gaining more questions than they do clarity. A GerIta twist to the Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim game.

Trigger Warnings Here.

Story Below the Cut

And the Scrolls have foretold of black wings in the cold, That when brothers wage war come unfurled! Alduin, Bane of Kings, ancient shadow unbound, With a hunger to swallow the world!

Ludwig was frozen. He stared and watched in horror as the creature reared it’s head back and thrust it back forward with a blood-curdling screech, sending everyone left standing reeling backwards.

The clouds behind it gathered and swirled, turning a dark intimidating grey. It shouted again, and Ludwig found himself being dragged to his feet, the fear-fueled adrenaline pumping energy back into his veins.

He steadied himself on his feet, and looked up. Before him stood Ralof, pulling him up.

“Hey, kinsman. Get up!” he shouted over the screams of the crowd and the dragon’s roaring. “Come on, the gods won’t give us another chance! This way!”

Ludwig stumbled the first few steps, but managed to follow him into another tower. As he ran through the entrance, Ralof slammed it shut, locking it behind him.

On the stone floor was one of the Stormcloak prisoners, tending to the female soldier that had cursed the Imperials before. Her leg was bleeding profusely, even with the now blood-soaked cloth pressed firmly against the wound. Beside her lay another unconscious Stormcloak, his breathing shallow and ragged.

Ludwig knelt down to her, examining her leg. “Will they be alright?” he asked, ignoring the raw pain in his throat.

“They’re hurt, but they’ll live. Another second out there with the dragon, and they’d both be dead…” The soldier grimaced and looked down to the injured.

Ralof looked to Ulfric, who was standing by the keep entrance removing his gag from his mouth and spitting at the ground.

“Jarl Ulfric! What was that thing? Could the legends be true?”

“Legends don’t burn down villages,” the Jarl grumbled, his voice rough and scratchy from being gagged for such an extended period of time. “We need to move, now!”

“Up through the tower,” Ralof ordered to the group. “Let’s go!”

The standing Stormcloak ushered Ludwig to follow Ralof up the tower staircase. He hesitated, but complied after a short moment and jogged to catch up with him.

A Stormcloak was already up on the first landing, throwing pieces of collapsed stone out of the way.

“We just need to move some of these rocks to clear the way-“

“Yor… Toor… Shul!”

The wall abruptly burst in on itself, taking the Stormcloak with it and crushing him in the rubble. Ludwig and Ralof immediately receded back down a few steps, stumbling and having to lean against the intact wall for balance.

The dragon’s head was visible through the large hole, and the two men crouched down so that it wouldn’t detect them.  At this close of a distance, the creature was even more terrifying than before, and Ludwig felt as if he were to vomit then and there.

It only took a few seconds for the dragon to breath fire through the new opening and take off again, searching for more prey to terrorize.

Ralof swore, then pointed through the immense hole left behind at a ruined, burning building and spoke to Ludwig. “See the inn on the other side? Jump through the roof and keep going!”

Ludwig began to protest, but Ralof shoved him forward up the a few steps. “Go! We’ll follow when we can!”

Ludwig watched as he descended the stairs, then decided that he would put his faith into these men. He backed up a few paces, counted down from three, and rushed forward.

The sensation of falling as wind whipped around him and smacked his face made him feel almost weightless, as if he were flying. When he landed, the force of the shock from the hard contact between his feet and the wooden floor shot immense pain up Ludwig's legs, causing his knees to buckle and he collapsed to the floor. It took much effort for him to stand on both feet and rush to an opening in the floor, where he fell another, shorter, distance.

He ignored the throbbing in his legs as he ran outside to see the soldier with the list with an elder villager and the father of the boy whom had been ushered inside. Both the soldier and the elder had their weapons drawn, and the boy appeared to be frozen in fear as he watched the dragon destroy his home.

"Haming," the soldier yelled, "you need to get over here! Now!"

The boy seemed to find his senses and ran back to them just as the dragon landed a nearly a mere hundred feet, making him stumble and fall. Ludwig felt a moment of panic as the boy scrambled to his feet and sprinted to the soldier and his father.

The dragon bellowed fire at the boy just as turned off the stone path, the deathly heat missing him by inches.

The father stumbled and fell, caught in the blast.

The soldier screamed his name. "Gods... Everyone, get back!"

Yol... Toor... Shul!

The three hid behind the rubble of a fallen house, protected from the dragon's flaming breath. Ludwig joined them.

"Still alive, prisoner?" The soldier asked, giving him a quick glance. "Stay with me if you want to stay that way. Gunnar," he turned to the elder, "take care of the boy. I have to find General Tullius and join their defense."

The elder nodded. "Gods guide you, Hadvar." With that, the soldier- Hadvar, Ludwig now knew- dashed off, Ludwig in tow. They ran down the path where the dragon previously stood, passing the father's dead corpse, and through a small alley between the village wall and a house.

The dragon dropped down on top of the wall from the sky, blowing another attack in its strange tongue. The two men crouched down against the wall to hide from the beast. Once it passed, they started once more, through the ruins of burning cottages and the bodies of Imperials, villagers, and Stormcloaks alike.

While running, Ludwig tripped and ran his shoulder into a burning log, sending him reeling back with a cry of pain. After giving himself a second of pause before dashing after Hadvar again, trying to think of anything but the burning pain pulsing through his shoulder and arm.

"It's you and me prisoner. Stay close!" Hadvar shouted back as they ran past injured soldiers and villagers. Everything was in ruin and chaos, and Ludwig found himself running purely on adrenaline and fear.

As they approached the entrance to another keep, Ralof appeared running from beyond the rubble of the side.

They all stood there for a moment, Ralof and Hadvar staring each other down.

"Ralof!" Hadvar shouted. "You damned traitor. Out of my way!"

"We're escaping, Hadvar," Ralof said cooly. "You're not stopping us this time."

Hadvar glared daggers at him. "Fine. I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde."

Ralof looked over to Ludwig, beginning to run towards his direction. "You! Come on, into the keep!"

Hadvar ran towards the front of the keep, while Ralof grabbed Ludwig's wrist and led him around the back to another door. Ralof began working on the locks as he spoke. "I can cut you loose inside!"

The dragon flew by and breathed fire where they were all previously standing just moments ago, the power of its strong wings causing Ludwig to stumble.

Ralof made a sound of approval as the lock gave, and the door swung open. As he was ushered inside, Ludwig could have sworn he had heard someone speak, and turned around to look outside.

Hin sil fen nahkip bahloki.

The door slammed shut, and the screaming was replaced by silence.

[kaazdunrah]

“YOL... TOOR SHUL!” The blast of flame from S’hawn’s mouth incinerated the final spider to a crisp in moments. “Pests, all of them,” he muttered. S’hawn approached an old wooden chest, expecting to find the lost item inside.

*Oh dear. T'would seem that during an exploration of a cave to earn some loot and ingredients, it is revealed that the cave has been inhabited by some Frostbite spiders...

Thunder boomed as S’hawn let loose Shock spells at the spawn of Namira. “Fucking SPIDERS!” he yelled in Ta’agra. “I see one more, I swear to Alkosh, it’s Fire Breath time…” S’hawn added darkly.

He didn’t necessarily NEED ingredients, being atrocius at alchemy, but there was news that the arachnids were becoming bothersome to the townsfolk, and so into the cave S’hawn went.

[mcrcer]

"Mercer!" A scream ripped through Signe as she watched him take a blow from a sword meant for her. Red clouded her vision as he fell to the ground. "YOL TOOR SHUL!" Shouting at the man his body engulfed in flames as she dropped to her knees beside Mercer. "H-how could you be so stupid." She scolded as her sight began to blur from tears. There was so much blood. A shaky hand hovered over the deep wound. "I'll just heal it. You'll be fine." Wiping away tears she began trying to heal him.

fatal blow || accepting!

     There’s a snap of a harsh eyes towards her, a snarl parting his lips despite the immense amount of pain he’s in. He keeps one hand pressed over the wound, trying his best to staunch the blood flow. “Gods– damn it!” he growls out, almost instinctively flinching away from her hand. He fumbles, for a moment, at the pouches at his hip with his free hand, hoping to grab an extra healing potion.

     ( unfortunately, he’d already used them all. )

     There’s a hiss from between clenched teeth, a low snarl escaping his throat as he fights off unconsciousness.

     “You should be lucky it was me on the receiving end of the weapon and not you, Signe,” he snaps. He moves too quickly in his haste to get up that he just makes the wound worse, and he nearly collapses. “The world needs you, doesn’t it? You’re of more use to them alive, being Dragonborn.”          ( “they need you more than me,” are the words that go unspoken. )

     He tries to prop himself up on one arm, and he succeeds for a few moments before the blood loss causes him to hit the ground.

     “Don’t worry about me. We– we got them all, at least. They won’t be- won’t be calling for reinforcements. So just… go. Get out of here. Leave me behind; I’m not– worth the trouble of dragging around. Especially as a corpse.”

     He does manage a glance up at her tear-stained face, and for a short moment, his expression softens.

     “… sorry I won’t be around to witness you saving the world from the dragons.” Silence for several beats, before he speaks up again. “Give ‘em hell, Signe.”