Disclaimer: Skyrim is owned by Bethesda. The dragons, the Dovahkiin and all the other wonderful characters of Skyrim belong to them. Tankanae is based on my Orc though.

To Kill a Dragon...

So what is it like to kill a dragon?

It's a question I get asked a lot. Not surprising really. As soon as the Jarl of Whiterun named me 'dragonborn', that was it. Everyone wanted to know. Children, merchants and soldiers alike.

They still do to this day.

Some only care about the killing part. Bards mostly. Always scratching around like hens for more inspiration for their awful ballads and odes. Others seem more interested about the soul absorption part. More often than not it, it's mages that want to know about that one.

And each time I'm never sure what to say.

One, because it's hard to put into words

and

Two, because they still ask.

I don't know whether to be flattered or annoyed. I once told a nosy little Dunmer mage that eating a dragon's soul gave me heart burn and made me fart for a week.

Poor bastard took me seriously. Even wrote a paper on it. I think it still sits in the Winterhold college library.

So where do I start?

I find that simple always works best.

The most common questions I am asked when the issue of dragon slaying rears its ugly head are these:

Is it fun?

Is it exciting?

Are you ever scared?

Yes and yes to all of those.

If anyone ever tells you they are never nervous, scared or frightened before going into battle, feel free to call them lairs. Lairs, fools, and suicidal milk drinkers that need their heads examined. Also feel free to tell them to come see me if they take offence. I would be glad to show them the error of their ways.

Even if I am long dead when you read this...

Those feelings are what keep you on your toes, keep you grounded and remind you of your limitations. Skill and luck are all well and good, but not if you have no wits about you.

Don't get me wrong. You should never let such things overwhelm you. Of course you shouldn't. What good would that do?

Fears are like opponents.

They are to be faced and beaten, but respected.

Oh, you can enjoy the beating part. Who doesn't?

Again, anyone who tells you different is to be considered a fool and unworthy of your attention.

But much like those fears and doubts, you mustn't let your blood lust consume you. Getting carried in the heat of the battle will get you and your comrades killed.

Fighting a dragon is much the same.

Only dragons are hundred times stronger, tougher and are able to fly and breathe all sorts of death upon you.

You face it, you beat it, but you bloody well respect it.

Everything else in between doesn't matter.

Simple.

Or least that's what I always thought.

But that's not what you want to hear is it?

Because being Dragonborn makes you different.

I don't just kill them; I eat their souls for breakfast.

Or at least that's what my daughter thought I did. I never quite told her differently.

The basics are the same, as I said.

But the end result...

The first time I killed a dragon was just outside of Whiterun...

I had finally made it to the city. A few wolves and thugs had slowed me down, but I got there in the end. I was already missing the simple comforts of Riverwood.

My first impressions of Whiterun were pretty good. Everything felt light and airy, unlike the harsh heavy stonework of Helgen. Spacious and welcoming, it was a breath of fresh air.

Once I got my bearings, I headed straight for the nearest merchant, which happened to be Warmaiden's. I needed to sell off the excess weaponry and armour I had looted. The bandits that had gotten in my way may have been a nuisance, but the goods I gained just about made up for it.

The shop was owned by an imperial and Nord couple, Adrianne Avenicci and Ulfberth War-Bear. I could understand why Ulfberth's last name was War-Bear, he certainly looked like one. They were good natured a pair, hardworking and obviously devoted to one another. It helped matters that they equally good at what they did, Ulfberth at selling the goods and his wife at forging them.

They reminded me of my parents. The shared the same care and devotion they gave to one another as they did to their livelihood. I warmed to them instantly.

After selling off my loot and making use of the forge (after a lesson or two from its owner), Adrianne asked a favour of me. Could I take her sword to her father, the steward of Whiterun? Sure, why not? It was on the way to the Jarl, and any man worth his salt would be honoured by such a fine weapon.

The Cloud district was again pleasant, save the priest ranting about the man-god Talos.

I had heard the Dominion had forbidden the worship of the Nordic deity from my travels. What little sympathy I had felt faded into nothingness.

I hated preachers.

Dragonsreach was an impressive sight. It was a strong overwhelming focal point of the city. No one could miss it. The scale and craftsmanship that had gone into the building was obvious. The structure looked strong and sturdy, but there was that feeling of lightness again.

I really was becoming fond of Whiterun by the minute.

The guards let me in without much fuss.

Why shouldn't they? I had yet to cross them.

Threw me a few stern looks, it was their job after all. Let them have their fun, pretend to be the big men their fathers had hoped them to be. Not that it mattered. I was used to far worse receptions. That failed execution in Helgen sprang to mind

Besides, I knew I could beat every one of them in a fight.

Probably.

I was a little rusty.

Finally I came to the Great hall. The inside was just as astounding as its exterior. Tall reaching pillars of pale wood that seemed to go on forever. Flawless curved archways that supported the roof. And such light. Yes, I was impressed with Dragonsreach all right.

Before me, was the Jarl of Whiterun. Balgruuf the Greater.

Greater than what? In all these years I never thought to ask. It couldn't be much.

I moved toward the Jarl again without much ado. A Dunmer woman, his body guard perhaps, moved closer to his side. Her red eyes never left me for a moment, a hand always on the hilt of her sword. Suspicious of my being there.

Good.

I would've been worried if no one had cared that some strange Orismer had approached the Jarl without so much as a bye or leave.

He looked very regal, with a Golden mane and matching beard. Dressed in fine robes and had sat on his brow a very pretty circlet. It was a shame he was slouching.

"Greetings, What business do you have with the Jarl of Whiterun."

Well, at least his voice was commanding.

I bowed my head. A simple gesture of respect perhaps, but I wasn't one for curtseys or flowery words. Leave that to the 'yes' men and pretty ladies of the Jarl's court.

I told him about Helgen. I told the Jarl what I saw, and what had happened, or at least all of what I could remember clearly at the time. He listened intently, they all did. Irileth, Adrianne's father even the whole court. To be honest I was grateful for their eavesdropping. After the few days I had had, I didn't feel up to repeating myself over and over again.

When I mentioned the dragon, I felt the whole room go still. It was so quiet you could've heard a pin drop. I was impressed with myself.

Perhaps I should have been a bard?

I wasn't sure if the Jarl believed me. To be honest I didn't care. I saw what I saw, and I had done my duty. I had told him about the dragon. It was up to the Jarl to look after his realm.

Job done, you'd think? Of course not, remember, my life is never simple.

A guard came rushing in, out of breath and shaken. It was a while before the man could speak. But when he did, I wished I was somewhere else.

A dragon had been spotted circling the Western watchtower, just outside the city limits.

I should have left Dragonsreach that very moment. I should have turned and walked away. This wasn't my fight. I had survived one dragon, why should I go up against another?

But I am no coward. And whilst at that point I had wanted so very much to wash my hands of Dragons and Civil wars altogether, I could never say no. When someone asked for me aid, no matter what it was, I would always help. It's just my way I suppose.

So when the Jarl asked me to accompany his Housecarl to investigate, I agreed.

Perhaps this was why my life was never as simple as I wished it to be?

After I delivered Adrianne's sword to her father (it wouldn't do to piss off a woman who knew how to wield a mace), I followed Irileth into the night.

The watch tower was all but destroyed once we got to it. Fire's dotted about the landscape. We approached what was left, when some of the survivors cried out.

"Be careful! It's still lurking round here!"

And as my luck would have it, as soon as I heard that cry, the dragon appeared.

Two dragons in under a week, someone somewhere must've hated me.

The dragon was vast, just as the one in Helgen had been. Only this one was not of pure Obsidian. It had a bit of colour to it.

It was just as deadly. In one pass of the tower, it lay down a stream of pure fire. Taking out nearly half of the soldiers we had brought from the city.

I watched the creature swoop and soar. I studied its movements, its behaviour. I remembered the dragon in Helgen. The way it attacked. After tracking it's movements for a while, I knew what to do. I raised my bow, followed it for a moment then fired.

The arrow hit the underside of its head, piercing its thick skin with ease. The dragon yowled in agony and fell to the ground. The earth shook and I almost lost my footing.

I tried to warn the others I had followed here. I tried to let them know what was going to happen. But the noise and chaos was far too great. Irileth and her merry band of guards charged the beast and I stepped out of the way and continued to fire.

All the while a mantra filled my head.

i Keep your distance, 'Nae. Wear it down. Hit it with more arrows. Tire it out. /i

The dragon was far from done.

The creature let out another breath of fire, and the guards fell back.

And so it went. I fired arrows into the beast the best I could. The Housecarl and her guards tried their best to get a couple of axe swings in on the dragon before it lit them up like torches and retreated to skies. The battle was long and hard. For a while I never thought it was going to end.

But it did.

The dragon landed in a heap of wings and claws. It's breath harsh and ragged, with barely a spark flying past its scaly lips.

That was the first time I felt it course through me. Not the thrill of a good fight or sweet hint of a worthy victory. It wasn't any of that.

The dragonblood in my veins was calling me, and it would not be ignored.

I barely noticed my bow slip from my grasp as I approached the fallen dragon.

A flurry of movement within its leathery cocoon caught my attention. With a burst of speed, its head snapped out like a coiled snake. Its jaws filled with sharp teeth missed me by an inch. The beast was more dangerous than ever. Using every trick it knew to keep me from it. I could see it in its eyes.

But that didn't stop me.

If anything it spurred me on.

I had never felt so alive.

I was supposed to do this. This and this alone was what I was meant for.

The feeling inside me swelled. I unsheathed my sword and with a war cry that would've made my ancestors proud, I swung. I couldn't tell you how many times I stabbed at that tough scaled head. But I kept going, stopping every so often to dodge its last attempts to cleave me in half.

But it stopped eventually. The creature was in its final throes. And with a roar that rivalled the dragons I plunged my sword deep into its skull.

It fell still. The fire in its eyes all but faded to nothing. It was dead.

I closed my eyes and breathed deep, deeper than I had done in a long time. Air had never tasted so sweet.

It had been a tough fight.

The dragon's corpse began to glow.

Much like in Barrows, tendrils of warm light surrounded me. I didn't know what was happening at the time. It was only later someone told me that light was the dragon's soul.

My world grew into nothing but bright light; I felt the warmth flood into me. It seeped into every part of my being. I couldn't breathe. It filled me to bursting.

The light faded quickly, and when the world shifted back into place I collapsed into a boneless heap.

But the warmth, the warmth inside me lingered on.

I almost felt content.

Irileth and the remaining few rushed to my aide. But there was no need. I was tired. By the eight I was. Who wouldn't be? I had just killed a dragon after all.

And yet I was all right. Better than all right in fact. Nothing a couple of strong healing potions and a stiff drink couldn't fix.

So...

What was it like taking that Dragon's soul?

I didn't feel like eating that's for sure.

It felt right.

It felt like this was what was supposed to happen, that this was what I was supposed to do. No doubts or second guesses. Much like when I stepped forward and raised my sword against the dragon, or when crafted my first weapon or perhaps even the first time I made love with a woman. It all felt so right.

And I felt whole.

As if some long forgotten part of me I never knew I was missing had suddenly clicked back into place. Somewhere it truly belonged.

And that's how it felt...