The word of another dragon attack spread through Whiterun with unnatural speed, the fearing for their lives making the citizens and efficient relay network of alarm. By the time the news reached Jorrvaskr, everyone knew that the Dovakiin had been spotted returning to Whiterun from Windhelm, and she was already en route to the location where the dragon had been last seen. The Companions knew that their shield sister was returning from her trial to join the Stormcloaks, travelling to Serpentstone Isle and defeating the Ice wraith that haunted it and in her usual style, would have taken little if any rest and would be returning with little, if any rest, and fewer supplies. Lydia, her faithful housecarl, would likely be fairing even worse: any proper Nord needed a good mead and a good rest at least every couple days, which was a luxury the fervent Dovakiin was not going to recognize without adequate reminder. So, with brief, unanimous discussion, the Companions currently at the famous mead hall set out to aid their fellow, for solidarity and glory.
They could hear the screaming a mile away from the site. The shrieking of the dragon shook the earth and echoed off of the mountain walls; it forced them faster forward, before the screaming stopped and the worst scenario came to pass. Even from a distance, the massive form of the dragon could be seen leaping into the air, circling tightly and spraying dazzling fire onto the earth below. In their minds, they knew that if anyone was going to survive a dragon attack, the Dovahkiin was a safe bet – but in their hearts, anything could have been happening at the battlefield. Even if Dryn would survive, they could not forget that the loyal Lydia would have been following her Thane doggedly and would be in no shape to fight a dragon.
The first to arrive saw the risks of following anyone into battle blindly, no matter how much you love them or how loyal you are. Taking on a dragon at the side of her Thane- Lydia, a formidable warrior, was struggling to drag her broken body away from the massive demon that plagued her. Only a small elfin warrior stood between her and certain death, and the Bosmer had only a handful of arrows left.
The Companions plunged into battle. Vilkas took his natural role as a leader and immediately began barking commands. "Ria! To Lydia! Companions! Bows at ready, fire at will!" His peers were already on one knee, aiming at the beast and letting fire before he had even finished the order. Aela, whose aim was truest, let fire her arrows nearest to Dryn, skimming passed the elf's shoulder and striking the terrible beast as high on the neck as she could get. The elf seemed not to notice the arrows whistling by her ear, but in truth it was her unwavering trust in her friend that allowed her to ignore the projectiles. She let loose her own arrows until her last, then fell back to hold the position between the dragon and Lydia who was now joined by Ria. The young companion was struggling to get the injured housecarl to her feet.
The dragon, infuriated by this new onslaught, thrashed and danced around the battlefield. It flung out its wings and whipped its long neck around, spouting jets of flame in all directions, trying to scatter the tiny creatures that pestered it. The companions held fast in their positions, bows steady and true. The dragon quickly honed in on the easiest of targets – to where Ria was dragging Lydia away from the fray. Three massive strides and it was nearly upon them, pulling its head back like a snake ready to strike. Aela turned her focus to its back leg to try and draw its attention. Vilkas and Farkas both shouted and, dropping their bows, they charged at the dragon in their own attempt. The closest person, however, was Dryn. Knocked off balance by the force of the dragon's wings passing over head, she stumbled into a dead run – speeding alongside her adversary. As the head came down for the death strike, she ran down its length and leapt upwards, planting her shoulder firmly into its lower jaw before flame or fang could cause any harm. Thrown off its mark, the dragon screamed again, writhing its neck and body around. Ria gave a final heave all of her strength, pulling Lydia up and off of her feet, and staggering their way from the terror.
The twins fell upon the dragon, but the beast was in the middle of full retaliation, and snapped them back with one strike of a powerful wing. The men were fast to recover, but not fast enough. The dragon had its eyes on the one who had denied it a successful kill, and Dryn, dagger in hand, knew fleeing was not an option. If she ran, and somehow got away, it would grab one of the men while they were still regaining their balance. If she ran, someone else would die. Only seconds after she had struck the beast with her shoulder, its jaw shut tight around her ribcage, crushing armour and bone alike.
All the sounds that had been there a moment before were lost in the sudden silence. There was a massive pressure in her skull as the dragon lifted her freely from the ground, whipping its neck like the terrible predator it was in an attempt to snap her spine. The force as she was thrashed like a mouse in the jaws of a cat was unbearable. It felt like an eternity before she realized her arms were free, and longer before she knew they still had some strength left in them. She still held her dagger, and she threw all of her might forward, into the eye of the demon that held her. The pressure released immediately. She felt light again for the briefest of moments before the dragon collapsed and brought her down with it. Hands were suddenly all over, pulling the jaw opening and her out of it. She looked down at herself curiously, as one of the massive teeth withdrew its bloody mass from her abdomen. She wondered how such a thing could have been inside of her without her feeling it.
A familiar voice. She tried to keep her eyes open long enough to see his face and smile. Oh, Farkas...
"Dryn, stay here." His face was close to hers, blurring as her eyes unfocused. "That's my hand. You feel that?"
She nodded. There was something warm in her palm that she tried to squeeze.
Get her to the temple.
Vilkas was first through the doors, heading straight for the priestess as soon as he entered. Farkas was right behind him, carrying in his arms the elfin dovahkiin. "Danica. I know you don't like us here, but this is important."
The woman stared out from under her hood without emotion, regarding the Companions coolly. As soon as her eyes rested on Dryn though, her face softened. "Bring her in. Set her down here." She moved over to one of the healing beds, pushing aside stray poultices and herbs.
"She is our friend, wounded by a dragon," Vilkas was still explaining their presence but Danica Pure-Spring waved her hand to silence him. She leaned over Dryn as Farkas tenderly placed her on the bed.
"She is known to me." Danica said, smiling.
"You know her?" Aela asked, leaning on her bow anxiously.
The priestess kept her smile firm when meeting the eyes of the companions. "She restored life to the Gildergreen. Dryn will always be welcome here."
Farkas had not moved from his wife's side, keeping her hand safely in his own. He leaned over her ear, and the elf turned her head toward him stiffly. "No wonder you're never home. You must have helped everyone in this town by now."
She squeezed his hand and rested her forehead against his arm. Holding onto her consciousness with everything she had, the world had begun spinning madly, trying what it could to take her out of it. She had glanced down at her torso again, where her once sturdy armour had caved in on itself, jagged pieces had torn their way into her body where the dragon had made its strength known. Farkas' free hand smoothed the damp hair away from her face.
"Can you do something?" Vilkas demanded, hovering over with his arms crossed tightly over his chest.
The priestess' brow furrowed as she resisted sending him a glare. "I am. I have asked for Kynareth's guidance in this matter." She removed her fingers from around the talisman at her throat and placed two fingertips onto the hollow in Dryn's throat. Danica nodded. "Her heart is strong. Help me remove her armour."
A second priestess moved silently in the background, drawing a curtain to obscure the bed and those who gathered around it from prying eyes. Farkas tried to assist Danica, but with Dryn refusing to let go of his hand, he was not of much help. Ria and Aela had been on the other side of the curtain when it was drawn, and had gone to assist with Lydia's recovery. The housecarl had a broken arm and several other injuries, but it was already clear she would survive. She had already tried making demands to be at Dryn's side but the priestesses would hear none of it. Vilkas stepped forward awkwardly, waiting for a nod from his brother before he lay a hand on his wife. Between the three of them, they began to remove the bloodied mess. Vilkas recovered from his unease in light of the hard work ahead, sweat appeared almost instantly on his brow and he could see Danica was just as tense. Leather straps and workings had to be cut, and each piece of the armour broken and separated so as to be the most careful with the pieces that had pierced Dryn's body. Danica gave the elf a bit of clean leather to bite down on when they got to the worst of it. The breastplate, the largest piece, was wholly undamaged and removed easily but the many plates that had once fit flawlessly together over her ribcage were now a broken, twisted mess. Vilkas held the end of one while Danica carefully slid the metal out of Dryn's abdomen. Each piece had to be carefully fit back together on the floor to ensure no small bits still remained within the flesh. Each rivet had to be accounted for. Vilkas was unwaveringly precise in this task, while Danica used clean linen to staunch the fresh flow of blood from the freed wounds. He then moved on to removing her boots, greaves and gauntlets – the second gauntlet Farkas removed so as to not disturb where Dryn had decided to keep her hand.
When he was done, Vilkas stood back for a moment, meaning to clean his hands in the nearby basin. However, seeing Dryn so exposed, he halted in his tracks. Dressed now only in light leather pants that only went to her calves and a white linen shirt soaked with sweat and blood so that it clung desperately to her body, he realized he had never seen her in anything but battle-ready attire. The elf always seemed to be off to the next fight, or just returned from the latest rescue. He recalled what Farkas had said quietly an hour before, no wonder you're never home. Dryn never seemed to stop, but here she was, lying still and exposed. Danica had begun to cut away the shirt and Vilkas averted his eyes just before the elf's soft, pale skin with its strange, greenish hue became visible.
"Vilkas, water. We need to clean the wound," the priestess urged. He brought the basin over.
"It's not as bad as I thought," Farkas said to Dryn, his voice thick with fear. She had stopped returning the pressure of his hand, and she had not opened her eyes for some time. The strip of leather had fallen unnoticed from her lips after the last piece of metal was removed from her gut. He held her hand in both of his and pressed her knuckles to his lips. He said something barely audible, but Vilkas just heard it, "Stay here."
Vilkas set back to work again with renewed determination. He could feel the pain in his brother's chest as if it were his own, a strangling force of overwhelming despair. Skyrim needed the Dovahkiin, but more importantly, Farkas needed his wife, and Talos be damned if Vilkas was going to let her die. Between he and Danica, they pulled strips of fabric from the wounds until they could be sure the shirt was whole and no pieces were left; then they cleaned and dried the skin, sewing up the worst wounds, binding them all tightly in bandages before finally stepping away from their handiwork.
Vilkas lay a hand on his brother's shoulder, a gesture of solidarity, before following Danica out of the curtain. The priestess looked exhausted, but she managed a tight smile. "She is strong."
"Yes, she is." He looked back at the bed, where he could see his brother's shadowed form in the same position he had left it in. "Strong enough, I hope."
"I have not seen many dragon bites before, but I believe that if she survives the night, that she will live."
In the early hours of the morning, Farkas stood up to stretch his muscles. He gently laid down the hand he had been holding, and stood up, returning motion to the body that had gone stiff with inactivity. He felt his blood, now free of werewolf taint thanks to Dryn, rushing back into his legs and arms and tingling at the fingertips and toes. Dryn had been breathing steadily for hours, so he felt he could risk a glance away and took a step toward the window of the temple. The inky blue of the sky had begun to lighten at the edges in the very first signs of dawn. Another hour or two, and his wife would have officially lived through the night. He rubbed his temples, then his eyes, and turned back to resume his sentry position on the chair. When he opened his eyes, however, he found himself staring into the red and black depths of Dryn's.
"You're not leaving, are you?" She asked with a faint smile.
He shook his head. "Never."
She raised her hand and he took it without hesitation. "Lie down with me."
The heavy stone alter had more than enough space for the two of them, still, Farkas was exceptionally careful as he crawled up next to her. He put one arm beneath her head as her pillow, and gently laid the other over her hips as she turned her back slightly towards him so that his chest was against her. He pulled the blanket they had lain over her up a bit to make sure she would be warm, then returned his free arm to its previous position. He quickly noticed the heat radiating off of her, and realized she was fevered. Danica had said to expect this and that it was a good sign, so long as it did not last very long.
Dryn sighed and murmured softly. "The dragon spoke to me in my dream." Farkas looked down at her face but her eyes were closed again, in the candlelight he thought he could see her smiling. "It curled itself around my spine and whispered that we had defeated each other. Neither of us had won the argument, but that I was fortunate, for I would live to argue it again."
Farkas kissed her cheek where it joined her ear. "It will not be your last dragon."
"Hmm... no, it won't." She seemed to drift off to sleep again, and he held her a bit tighter. The dragons were inside of her now, he knew, in a place where he could not protect her. Seeing the smile on her face, though, he wondered if she was the one who needed the protection.
In the morning, the companions were anxious to see Dryn, who had been so near death the night before. Even Lydia had managed to hobble over with the aid of a walking stick, she was too proud to use a shoulder now. When they came upon the bed though, they found it empty. Only the priestess who had been tending to Lydia was there, and she could only offer a shrug as explanation. While Aela berated the poor woman, Vilkas went outside where he found his brother standing beneath the Gildergreen, which had already begun to blossom.
"Farkas! Where is Dryn?" His twin tilted his chin toward the statue of Talos in the square, having no words himself to describe how his wife was up and about.
Dryn was standing, she never kneeled before the gods, and staring the statue in the face. She had on a simple, white robe to hide the dressings that held her wounds, and her dark brown hair was wild around her head. Her face was flushed in the cheeks, and the greenish hue around her temples seemed all the more prominent in the morning light. She truly looked like the wild elf she was, a strange figure from a time before time, challenging the one who had become the Nine. When she heard the commotion, she nodded at the statue the way one who do when saying farewell to a friend, and turned around toward the temple. The others had followed after Vilkas, and now the companions joined the priestesses of Kynareth in staring in astonishment at the Dragonborn.
"I'm not healed," she said, almost defensively at their puzzled faces. "Just... feeling much better." She wandered over to them and Farkas, whose own face had returned to its naturally stoic state, offered her his arm which she took.
"You were on death's doorstep last night." Aela said.
Dryn nodded slowly. "Yes... I know. I should thank you all for your help."
Aela would not accept this. She glowered, but it was one of shame, not anger. "We did not kill the dragon. Having your dagger inside its brain is what did it in. And Farkas carried you back here. The best we can claim is putting a few arrows in its hide."
"I think I might have hit it with the flat side of my sword just before it went up in flame," Farkas said, a smile curling the edge of his lips.
"A good man you've got there," Aela said with a laugh.
"You only managed that because I had it distracted with all of my flopping around." Lydia said, willing to join in the laughter at their own expense.
"You should join up, Lydia," Ria quipped. "You were flopping around better than Vilkas and Farkas when that damn beast knocked them right on their asses."
Even Dryn laughed then, though softly so as not to move her stomach too much. Danica wouldn't forgive her if she pulled a stitch. Only Vilkas wasn't laughing. While everyone continued on, he stalked silently off towards Jorrvaskr, not glancing back.