Whiterun was pretty, Sjofn would give it that. She had never strayed too far inside, only going as far as the market when she'd come here before with Amir. Now, she was headed past them, through the circle built around a twisted dying tree, and up the stairs to the Jarl's palace- Dragonsreach. She ignored the scandalised looks from the nobles as she made her climb, and the guards ignored her for the most part. It wasn't until she reached the firepit and the long tables within did she meet resistance.

"No one disturbs the Jarl without a summons," the short Dunmer all but growled, her weapon brandished. "As his Housecarl, I will not allow strangers to simply walk up to him without official business."

It surprised Sjofn. A Dunmer, as acting Housecarl? She was surprised even more to see an Imperial standing beside the Jarl's throne. It was one thing, allowing Imperial rule, but having Imperial and Dunmer employed under the roof of a Nord's house, that was an oddity she'd not seen. Sjofn held up her hands, her bow still strapped to her back, and Drex took a few respectful steps back.

"I come with an urgent message for the Jarl regarding the safety of Riverwood. Gerdur sent me to ask for soldiers to protect the village. A dragon attacked Helgen and is loose," she reported.

The Dunmer blinked, then sheathed her weapon.

"Come," she said hastily, leading her to the Jarl.

"Irileth, who is this?" Jarl Balgruuf asked, his eyes studying Sjofn carefully.

"My name is Sjofn, my lord," she replied with a dip of her head. "Gerdur from Riverwood bade me come to ask for soldiers for the protection of the village. Her brother, Ralof, was at Helgen and a dragon attacked. I pulled him from the caves beneath the fortress and he and his sister asked me to warn you."

The Jarl stroked his beard thoughtfully, brown eyes never leaving hers.

"Gerdur runs the mill, a pillar of the community and not prone to flights of fancy. A dragon. Truly? Did you see it?" He asked.

"I did, my lord. Larger, faster than anything I'd ever seen, with a scaly hide as dark as night and a mouth full of flame."

Spewing words I thought I knew, despite them not being actual words.

"Irileth, send some of my soldiers to Riverwood immediately," Balgruuf said.

"The Jarl of Falkreath will see this as a sign that you are taking a side in the war! He will see it as a move against him, my lord!" The Imperial said. Balgruuf silenced him with a dismissive raise of his hand.

"Enough. I won't sit idly by while a dragon burns my town and slaughters my people!"

"Yes, my lord. I shall return to my duties," came the defeated reply.

"That would be best," Balgruuf said as Irileth retreated to disperse the guards. His eyes focused on Sjofn once more. She braced herself for the questions, the remarks about whether she was a Nord or not- the guard out at the front gate had tried to play a guessing game with her about it.

"You came and told me of the impending danger of your own accord," he said simply. She shook her head.

"Not just that, but Jarl Ulfric's."

There was a palpable silence between them, and Sjofn wondered if she'd said the wrong thing. Ulfric was on his way back to Windhelm, no doubt they were halfway there by now, hidden in the back roads and the trees, following her and Amir's usual hunting paths. She knew Ulfric and Ralof had not wanted to come to Whiterun, what with the Empire sympathisers in the city, but she felt it best to be honest to the Jarl.

"Ulfric Stormcloak."

"Yes, my lord. He escaped Helgen. From my understanding, he was about to be executed when the dragon attacked. We fled the fortress, he, Ralof, my brother and I. I offered to do a favour for the trader in Riverwood, and Ulfric suggested I warn you about the dragon so no one in Riverwood would be hurt," she said honestly.

The Jarl was quiet again, arms folding over his chest as he began to pace. Sjofn watched, amber eyes following his movements. No motions to summon the guards were made, and he continued to stroke his beard, looking thoughtful more than angry. The tension was thick, and a child, likely one of the Jarl's, stopped their approach and changed the direction of their course, knowing better than to interfere.

"He will ask for my help later and use this is leverage. I've no doubt about it," Balgruuf muttered, then let out a defeated sigh. "Nothing for it now. You have still done my people a service, when you could have continued on your way. You will be compensated."

He motioned to the Imperial.

"Proventus. See to it that she is given the septims to rent a room in the Bannered Mare, as well as a few meals, and basic provisions. It is the least I can do for you," he told Sjofn as Proventus reached into a pouch and counted out fifty septims before replacing them and holding the pouch out to her. She took it with trembling fingers and a grateful bow of the head. It was more gold than she'd seen in her life. The pouch felt so heavy and hot in her hands. Feeling out of sorts with that much money, she tucked it away hastily into her pack.

"Ah, if I might ask a question, my lord?" She inquired. Balgruuf nodded.

"I was wondering if there might be someone in your employ, or someone in town you might know of that is knowledgeable on dragons?"

His eyebrows rose, and the expression of realisation or remembrance of something important lit in his eyes.

"As a matter of fact, I do, and you might be able to help him. Come, speak to my court wizard, Farengar."

"This is it! The stone I was looking for!" The mage exulted, holding the odd stone carefully, delight etched on his face. "A stroke of luck, you are! You have my utmost thanks!"

"So... there were words on a huge wall carving. It was... a large curved wall, covered in runes of some sort, and one set was just... glowing. It felt like it was a piece of me that needed to return to me, and when I went close and touched it, I felt as though I'd reclaimed part of myself. Do... do you know what that might be?" She asked carefully, wringing her hands.

The young man looked up, cocking his head.

"Old magic? Maybe an enchantment," he mused. "I could not say for sure without seeing it myself."

"I surmised as much," Sjofn said, disappointed. "Perhaps, since I cleared the Barrow out, we could-"

"Farengar!" Irileth called. "Dragon!"

Sjofn and the mage exchanged glances, and bolted from the room.

"We have no time, Skulvar, let her borrow a horse!" Irileth barked.

The man nodded and brought out a black mare already saddled. Sjofn thanked him profusely.

"She won't come to harm, I promise. I'll return her," she assured him as she swung up into the saddle before helping Drex up behind her.

She gave the mare a gentle nudge with her heels, and the horse started off in a trot, then a gallop as Sjofn nudged her again.

"Remind me how we got involved in this? I just wanted to go to Windhelm!" Sjofn said loudly over the wind- the mare was decently fast, and rode smoothly.

"Doesn't matter," came Drex's dry reply. "Just aim and shoot. All we can do."

The tower came into view, and Sjofn leapt from the mare's back, leading the horse to a tree where she'd be a safe distance away before tethering her. Once the horse was safely contained, she bolted after Irileth, who was quickly heading for the tower. The men left began shouting.

"No, go back, he's coming!" A man cried.

Sjofn froze as a roar sounded through the air, and the shadow of the dragon fell over her, blotting out the sun. The horned head lowered and reptilian eyes locked with hers. For a moment, her blood sang in her veins, and her body shook with the overwhelming urge to fight. A low rumble sounded from the dragon, and he flew past her, wheeling around before landing.

"Bahlaan viik drun zey zin," he rumbled, his jaws parting.

Worthy enemy. Your defeat brings me honor.

"Yol...!"

Sjofn scrambled to get out of the way, ducking behind a broken piece of wall as fire emitted from the dragon's mouth. She didn't have time to wonder at the fact that she understood what the dragon was saying, she only had time to live long enough to fire back. Her blood roared in her veins and demanded the dragon's defeat, the need for victory burning like fire under her skin.

She popped back up, bow drawn, and let an arrow fly. It hit home in the dragon's shoulder, and he roared.

"Zu'u lost vodahmin fos ronak moor hi joor vis birgah!"

I had forgotten what fine sport you mortals can provide!

The fire breath came again, but Sjofn was already rolling away, the Whiterun guards using the dragon's distraction as a change to let loose a volley of arrows. Most hit the dragon's hide harmlessly, but were enough to get his attention. He turned and snapped fang filled jaws at a soldier daring to get close with a sword. The sounds of bones crunching and metal being crushed echoed through the air, and the smell of blood and rent viscera overwhelmed the area.

Cries of anguish and rage rose from the guards and Irileth, but Sjofn's nostrils flared at the scent of salt and copper on the air. It only increased the rage, the pressure in her chest. She could only describe it as need. This dragon had challenged her, and had moved to a less worthy target, and she bristled. No. He would face HER, the others were below her in regards of his focus. SHE was the real adversary here, not these sobbing milk drinkers! How DARE he ignore her!

"DRAGON!" She bellowed as she aimed her bow, the string pulled taut.

Her stomach was tight, her core a wound coil, her breath only expelled to roar her challenge to the winged leviathan before her. Her ribs expanded as she took another deep breath into her rigid core, her amber eyes narrowed as she waited. The dragon turned and gold eyes fixed on hers. The scaled throat shook and undulated as a low chuckle came from him.

"Hi yah wah jur Mirmulnir, joor? Morokei dinok fah mey!"

You wish to challenge Mirmulnir, mortal? A glorious death for a fool!

"Not a fool," she replied without even understand how she knew, how his words, while foreign to her ears, were understood in her chest, in the blood burning through her veins. "Face the only one who can give you the battle you want!"

Surprise registered on the dragon's face as he realised she had understood him, and something glinted in his reptilian eyes. Lips parted, revealing sharp fangs to speak once more. He never got out what he wanted to say. As her words left her lips, so did her arrow from her bow, as gentle as a baby's breath. The dragon- Mirmulnir- jerked back, but too late. A roar escaped him that rattled Sjofn's very bones as her arrow buried itself in his left eye. The dragon tossed his head, blood and ocular fluid streaming over his scaled cheek.

"HI DEN DIR, JOOR, SEIN AHRK FAAZAAL! ZU'U FEN NI ORIN DU HI FAH DAAR MOTAGEND!" He screamed to the skies as he tossed his head in agony.

YOU WILL DIE, MORTAL, SLOW AND PAINFUL! I WILL NOT EVEN DEVOUR YOU FOR THIS OFFENCE!

He lunged at her, fire brewing between fangs as his maw opened wide, but with one eye, his depth perception was off, and he missed, jaws snapping shut on empty air still roiling from the heat of his fire. Sjofn leapt, her hands pulling out her daggers, and he looked up, too late.

"Good, because I likely will taste horrible!" She cried as she landed on his head, between his mighty horns and grabbing onto them.

Mirmulnir shook his head wildly like a horse attempting to shake off flies. Sjofn responded to the actions by burying her daggers between scales and clinging tightly to the handles. Another roar escaped him, and Sjofn would have swooned from the deafening sound, had she not been laying flat against his skull. Arrows flew at the dragon's face, and Irileth cried out.

"Stop! You'll hit her, you fools!" She barked. The archers ceased, but the swordsmen advanced, slashing at the dragon's wings and legs with the beast distracted by the woman stabbing at his head.

Mirmulnir wouldn't allow it, however, and wings unfurled, leg muscles coiled, and the powerful tail thrashed against the ground as the dragon took off into the skies, Sjofn clinging to his head.

"He'll drop her!" Irileth shouted.

Drex calmly aimed his bow as the swordsmen looked up at Mirmulnir helplessly, his sharp avian eyes narrowing. His feathers ruffled, then flattened. Talons ran over the fletching gently before he released his arrow. Above them, the dragon screamed again as an arrow dug into the soft juncture between wing and ribs, just under the joint. Mirmulnir's flying became erratic as it became excruciating to fly.

Up in the air, Sjofn was overwhelmed with mixed feelings. She was terrified because if she was successfully dropped, she didn't have wings to save herself. That realisation, paired with the flight of her foe, had painful jealousy and longing rising in her chest. She didn't have wings, and could not fly like Mirmulnir, and never would.

It was that anger that drove her resolve to kill him ever higher. She would not lose to him. The challenge had been set, and she would not lose. Keeping one dagger buried firmly between scales just under his remaining eye, she leaned so she was staring directly into the gold depths and the slitted pupil that was dilated with rage and dawning fear. He knew what was coming.

"I would say 'meet you in Sovngarde,'" she yelled over the roar of his fury and the howling of the wind around his wings as he slowly descended, the result of the pain in his injured wing. "But only heroes go there, and dragons are never heroes."

She plunged her dagger into his eye, and kept going. Mirmulnir screamed, staggering in the air as his world went black, and the woman clinging to his face like a burr shoved her arm further and further into his eye socket, ignoring the blood and fluid that gushed over her. All she cared about was this dragon dying, because he had challenged her. She clung to him, her arm hooking around the bone of his eye socket. He attempted to bite her, but only succeeded in getting her legs stuck between his teeth, locking her in place against the side of his face.

And then the ground came hurtling up to meet them both, and closing her eyes, pressing her face against the blood covered scales, she gritted her teeth to prepare for the impact.

She saw stars and blacked out as the dragon crashed into the ground.

"Sjofn!"

"Is she alright?"

"Sjofn, by Azura's Grace, get up!"

Sjofn stirred, pain radiating through her entire body, starting at her head. She felt sticky, and her bones screamed in anger. There was heavy pressure on her legs- almost unbearably so. She opened her eyes but immediately whined in pain as the light was like the dagger she'd had buried in Mirmulnir's own eye. She didn't care who was nearby, she was in so much pain, but she had to know.

"Did... did it die?"

A low chuckle, shaky, but unmistakably Drex's. She felt talons slip under her head, cradling it gently as she was pulled against a feathery chest.

"Lift!" Irileth ordered.

There was the grunting of the guards, and Sjofn felt the pressure lift from her legs as the guards pried the dragon's jaws open enough for her to pull her limbs free. She sighed in relief and tested her legs, wiggling her toes. All in working order, thankfully, simply sore and would likely be bruised later, if not already.

"How long was I out?" She asked as Drex cautiously helped her to her feet.

"Not long. Sjofn, about that..."

"I know, it was crazy, but... I had to. I could NOT let him go unchallenged. It was so..."

Sjofn trailed off and turned, gazing at Mirmulnir's corpse. Everything seemed to go black and silent, save for the dead dragon, her felled foe. She reached out and placed a hand on his bloody snout, warmth still clinging to the flesh under the scales. Her heart raced and an odd feeling rose in her ribs. She wasn't sure if it was anger, frustration or-

She blinked.

She was hungry.

It was hunger that rose in her chest, but not of the sort she was accustomed to. Her stomach was still wobbling, and the thought of actually EATING had her nearly retching, but something about her fallen foe made her ravenous in a way she couldn't explain. The flesh, the blood, no, it wasn't what she wanted. Unbidden, she had flashbacks to the wall she'd seen in the Barrow, and she felt a rush, an outpouring from the dragon's dead body into her own hungry soul...

Everyone standing near Sjofn went quiet.

The woman's back was arching, her head falling back, eyes closing and a low guttural moan escaping her as a golden glow encased her and the felled dragon. Swirling golden light rushed from the dragon into Sjofn's chest, and the scales, flesh and blood began to crack, sizzle and fall away from the very bones. The look on Sjofn's face was that of rapture, of one eating after weeks of little to no food, the delighted cry of a parched man finding water. Her arms lifted, her mouth agape in pleasure.

The moment seemed to stretch for hours, then ended as though it had only been a split second, time becoming warped and confused as the soul departed one body for another.

Sjofn's eyes closed, a low moan escaped her mouth, and she teetered perilously. Memories, images, visions- she wasn't sure which- were flooding her mind, and the word she had found on the wall suddenly made sense. Drex took a step forward, but was too shell shocked to touch her.

"FUS!" She roared, the air from her lungs pushing the guards over, leaving visible ripples in the air as the cry shook the ground and cracked like thunder. Everyone froze.

Then the skies overhead shook, a booming chorus of voices rumbling with a single word.

"DOVAHKIIN!"

Sjofn cast amber eyes to the skies that still shook from the resounding call. A shudder rippled throughout her entire body, and eyes rolling into the back of her head, she blacked out again, Drex catching her in his arms.

Miles away, a slender, muscular neck twisted, black hide rippling over sinuous muscle. Blood red eyes stared at the skies that had just quaked with the last word he ever wanted to hear, and time rippled over his soul as a child of Akatosh faded from Keizaal, devoured into nothingness. Wings unfurled, and a long spiked tail thrashed angrily.

"Dovahkiin," the creature of legend, the monster of nightmares hissed, the word a curse between ebon fangs.

Glittering wicked claws scraped over rock as the Firstborn of Akatosh got to his feet, muzzle lifting to scent the air. The sharp mind was whirling, already setting into motion as he tasted the changes in the flow of Time.

Mirmulnir. He had fallen. But to a true Dovahkiin? Mirmulnir had always been arrogant. Surely he had simply bitten off more than he could chew and died a fool's death as was only right...

Then he felt it. The ripple of a Thu'um, unpracticed, unskilled, and not purposeful. The black dragon bristled, every muscle in his body seething in hatred and urgency.

Dovahkiin.

The black wyrm launched himself into the air, wings casting shadows over the ground as he flew. His red eyes were focused on a single spot far on the horizon, his Soul focused on the dormant bones of a fellow Dov. A certain red dragon whose council he trusted more than any other, save for the one who betrayed him.

A low growl rumbled through the skies, and the world below the dragon seemed to recede into hiding.

Alduin was angry, and on the move.