Chapter 3

Odahviing awoke but did not open his eyes and for a moment he didn't remember all that had happened. He was certain something was wrong – but he didn't know quite what. His body felt strange, and he felt extraordinarily light, like air.

He opened his eyes when he realized he was on his back, and then he sat up quickly. An odd weight that had been on his shoulder fell off. He looked down to see the Dragonborn a mess on the floor. He tried to keep himself calm as he noted that he was in a human form.

It wasn't right. He'd done horrible things, but surely he didn't deserve this.

He closed his eyes and steadied his breathing. He had to stay calm and he could. Maybe if he was younger, he would have lost his head. But he was very old.

"Who are you?"

He heard the words, but it took him a moment to register that anyone had spoken at all. He turned his eyes towards a middle-aged man with blonde hair, and a golden circlet that adorned his head. His eyes were hard and demanding. Odahviing recognized him – the Jarl of Whiterun.

He didn't answer the poised man, but rather stood and looked down at the Dragonborn.

She was abnormally frail in this state. He skin was hopelessly pale and she was thinner than he remembered. The first time he had seen her, she had stood tall and strong and looked him – a dragon – right in the eye.

Odahviing shifted in the great chain. "Caught like a bear in a trap!" he admitted, when faced with the triumphant Dovahkiin.

She had smirked. "Afraid so, big guy. And you're not getting out unless you cooperate!"

She distinctly reminded him of a petulant child, and looking her over, he realized that was exactly what she was. She was just a girl, caught up in something much, much bigger than herself. "Cooperate how, Dovahkiin?" he asked, finding himself amused by the child – which was rather inappropriate, regarding his situation.

She put her hands on her hips and lifted her chin. "Where is Alduin?"

She asked it so seriously, he wanted to laugh. She was just a girl, too young to be making demands of thousand-year-old dragons! But he remembered his undignified position, and he did not denounce her in such a way. "You expect me to betray him?"

She glared at him. "I am far more powerful than that dragon – it would be more advantageous for you to be on my side."

He considered this. "And how do I know you won't simply kill me in this degrading trap the moment I tell you?"

He knew she was old enough to have some sense of honor because she looked sincerely offended. "I wouldn't," she stammered out as though she wasn't sure how to voice her argument. "To kill an enemy like this would make me worse than Alduin – and I'm not!"

He made a slight agreeing sound so as to pacify her before she continued blubbering until she was more humiliated than he. "No, the honorable Dovahkiin would not do such a thing… But why should I tell you?"

She seemed to recover her shock and raised her eyebrows. "Because I'm not releasing you until you do."

"I will acknowledge, Dovah, that your Voice has impressed me…Alduin resides not in this world, but in Sovngarde – and he can only be reached through a place called Skuldafn Temple." Perhaps he shouldn't have given it over so easily – but her innocence was something to contend with. Certainly, she had spilled a heavy share of blood – but she was so childlike.

She looked surprised. "Skuldafn Temple? All right."

He studied her. "And will you release me?"

She hesitated. "If you promise to serve me."

He shifted his body and shuddered his wings in discomfort of his bonds. "No, not now. But if you defeat Alduin, then we shall see."

She crossed her arms, an uncertain look on her face. "I don't know…"

"Ah, yes!" he said as he recalled the catch. "I am afraid Skuldafn cannot be reached by one without wings."

She stepped back in surprise. "Oh. You're quite certain?"

He nodded gravely.

"Well, then," she said, a little awkwardly. "I will release you on the condition you take me to Skuldafn."

"Yes," he agreed. "I will take you – but I warn you…to fly over the skies like this will only increase your jealousy of the Dovah."

She gave a little shrug. "I don't mind being beneath the sky. Let's go."

He actually chuckled this time. "Perhaps, Dovahkiin, it would help if you released me."

She blushed a bright red, but smiled slightly. "Yeah, I'll just go do that…"

He watched her go, noting her smile. Dragons cannot quite smile.

At that moment, Farengar had come over, suggesting the extraction of his scales and blood and the idea of the invasion was so disturbing that Odahviing released a breath of fire. The mage backed up right away. It was only a moment later that the trap lifted. He ruffled his wings, and moved his great body, not much caring what he hit with his tail. When he reached the front of the balcony, he stretched his wings out, feeling the wind touch them gently. He could have taken off and never returned, but he always keeps his promises.

Aside from that, the Dovahkiin intrigued him.

She came up beside him and he studied her. "Are you ready, child?"

"I'm not a child," she reacted instantly, sounding more surprised than offended.

He chuckled. "Maybe not, but you are much, much younger than me."

She gave a noncommittal shrug and approached him until she was very close. She placed a hand on his neck. "I won't hurt you?"

"I am very strong." He was touched by her concern.

She nodded and climbed up on his neck and grasped his horns. "Try not to throw me off."

He took a few steps forward. "Hold on tightly – I would hate for you to die before you even reached the temple."

He felt her knees tighten, but he could sense her fear. "All young Dovah must take flight sometime," he rumbled and then he spread his wings and launched off.

He expected to hear a scream but was surprised by her laughter. "This is amazing!" she cried out, truly awed.

He laughed and flew and could feel her joy. But the flight ended, as he knew it would. Skuldafn lingered in the distance and they both tensed. He landed carefully. "This is as far as I dare go."

"Thanks," she said, and slid off his back. "Know what I'll be expecting?"

"Dragons and draugr," he warned. "And there will be many of them. One way or another, you're going to Sovngarde today."

She let out a laugh. "One way or another." She didn't seem scared. "I've battled draugr and dragons before."

"Not this many, not all at once," he admitted gravely. "I must leave you now."

She turned to glance at him. "Thank you, Odahviing," she said quietly. Then she faced the temple and pulled out her bow. He saw her duck and creep behind a wall. She disappeared into the shadows and he couldn't see her any longer, so he took flight and left.

And the child fought her way through every single draugr and went on to face Alduin himself.

She returned at Monahven – the Throat of the World. She had been battle-weary but she stood strong. She looked brave, and maybe a little older than he remembered. She had spoken to Paarthurnax and then he had landed.

"Dovah," he acknowledged her. She smiled at him. "You have proven yourself stronger than Alduin."

"Will you serve me?" she asked, sounding confident of herself.

He considered her. "You may call upon me – I will come if I can."

"If you can?" she asked, a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

He would have smiled. "I swear I will always come to you, Dovahkiin, if that is what you wish. I will rip off the ceilings of ruins to reach you if I must!" His voice teased, but he found himself meaning it. He wanted her to stay alive a little longer. He would destroy a ruin to save the life of this innocent.

"Good." Bravely, she reached forward with her hand and laid it on his snout. "I'll try to avoid calling for you in any caves."

He had promised he would come – and he did, the few times she called for him. But this time, when she needed him most, she had not called. Not until it was too late. And when he got there, he failed. He didn't save her.

It was his job to protect her now.

He bent over and scooped her up in his arms, grateful he was strong enough to hold her – and understand how.

The Jarl stood. "And what do you think you're doing?"

"Taking her wherever I can keep her safe," he responded instantly, his voice daring the Jarl to argue.

The man glared at him for a long moment, before seeming to come to a decision. "She has a home here in Whiterun. Her housecarl can take you to it."

A woman stood from where she had been sitting up against the wall of the temple. Her dark eyes were grave. She had dark brown hair that fell just to her shoulders and she wore heavy steel armor. A shield was clutched in her hand and a sword was sheathed on her belt. She looked him over. She was older than the Dragonborn, maybe in her thirties. "Come on."

He followed her out into the streets where the sun was just slipping into the horizon. The guards stared at him but no one else was about.

The house was small and quaint, nothing special amidst the rest of the buildings. He felt his hair brush against the top of the door and he cringed at the foreign feeling.

A fire pit was situated four feet from the entrance, filled with only burnt out wood. An empty pot hung over it. The rest of the room was crowded with shelves and a large table. There were a lot of books on every shelf, spilling out onto the table and even a few onto the floor. On the wall were several red plaques, each with a sword or axe mounted on them.

The woman headed up a thin staircase. He stared at it a little uncomfortably, unsure if he would fall going up it, especially with the weight in his arms. He was finding that if he didn't think about the human motions too much, they just came – however, if he did think about the change, he was at risk of falling right over. Bravely, he climbed the steps, one barefoot in front of the other and luckily managed not to fall. He headed through the small hallway and into the bedroom where the woman was pulling back the fur blankets. He laid down the Dragonborn, and the woman put a thin blanket over her.

"Who are you?" he asked the woman.

She studied him. "Her housecarl, Lydia. It…it was my job to protect her."

Her voice came out weak. Her eyes were heartbroken. "Did she ask you to come with her?" he asked.

"No," she answered quietly. "She thought she could handle herself, and she wanted to sneak in. I'm not much for sneaking."

He nodded slowly. "Then it isn't your fault she got hurt. You weren't there – you had no way of knowing she was injured."

She looked down. "I should have gone after her when she didn't come back the first day."

He looked down at the sleeping girl. "It was more my job to protect her than yours," he said quietly.

The woman frowned. "Why? Who are you to her?"

He thought about the question for a long moment. "I promised to serve her some time ago. She called for me, and I wasn't able to save her."

Lydia stared at him. "Called for you? That doesn't make any sense…"

Odahviing shook his head. "We failed to keep her safe – we need to help her now. Can you get something for her to eat? She'll wake soon and I'm sure she'll be hungry."

She left and he pulled a chair from the table in the corner of the room and situated himself next to her. Hesitantly, he brought his hand forward to touch her face. The skin was warm and soft. He raised his eyebrows and shifted to feel his own face. His skin was rougher than hers. He dropped his hand, disturbed at the foreign feeling.

Carefully, he touched her again and let himself run his fingers over her cheekbones, her jaw, her closed eyelids. Somewhere downstairs, he heard the fire start to crackle. The sound was familiar to him, something normal in a situation that wasn't normal at all.

He closed his eyes, and unconsciously brought his hands up to his face, rubbed his eyes, and ran his fingers through his hair tiredly. And then he jerked his hands back and stared at them. Now that was wrong.

A small murmur of a noise sounded and he dropped his hands to stare at the Dragonborn. Her head shifted and her arms pushed out in front of her – stretching, he realized. Her limbs relaxed and she was still before her eyes blinked open.

He watched her as she looked around, and her eyes were confused. Abruptly, they filled with panic and she sat up, starting to hyperventilate.

He instinctively brought his hands to her shoulders and pushed her back down, and she didn't fight him. "It's all right," he assured her and she seemed to calm.

She stared at him for a long moment. "I know you," she said weakly.

He frowned but at that moment, Lydia entered the room.

The Dragonborn sat up again. "Lydia!"

The older woman hurried forward and sat beside her. She brushed her dirty hair away from her face in a strangely heartfelt way. "How do you feel, Emlen?" she asked her, her voice quiet and soothing as though she spoke to an injured animal.

Emlen. Odahviing registered the name and realized he had never quite attached it to the Dragonborn before.

Emlen seemed confused. "I…I'm not sure."

Lydia squeezed her shoulder. "You've been through a lot – you need to rest. Go on, lay back."

Emlen looked as though she might argue, but Lydia pushed her down.

Odahviing realized that Lydia was being extraordinarily mother-like. He was reminded of a she-wolf calming a pup frightened by thunder.

Emlen seemed to respond well to her, and Lydia managed to coax her into telling how she felt.

"Oh, my stomach doesn't hurt….That doesn't hurt either….I suppose I'm a little hungry…."

Odahviing shook his head. He hadn't been prepared for this – he hadn't known she'd gone mad. He should have. She'd been through something horrible.

Her physical health seemed to be just fine, however. She ate all of the apple cabbage soup that Lydia gave her.

Eventually, she seemed to reach a mild amount of sanity. She, at the very least, could understand what they asked her and respond accordingly. Lydia left the room and she turned her eyes on Odahviing.

"I know you – I'm sure of it," she insisted. Hesitantly, he nodded. "Were you hurt by him too?" she asked, sounding scared.

He shrugged slightly but dropped his shoulders when he thought about the movement. "The mage used a spell…Emlen. He changed me."

She stared at him for a long time. "What's your name?"

The shame of what he was – how much weaker he had become – made him both furious and very, very broken. He did not answer her but stared at the floor.

The girl reached over and touched the skin on his cheek - he looked at her, the feeling foreign. His scales were not so sensitive. "Odahviing?" she asked, so quietly he barely heard her.

"I came when you called," he answered solemnly. She began to cry.

"I'm so sorry," she said weakly.

"It's not your fault – of course, it's not your fault," he tried to assure her.

It took a while, but she finally steadied her breathing and stemmed her tears. "You…are you adjusting okay?"

He made a noncommittal noise. "Well enough, I suppose. Not too much trouble in this damn form anyway."

She made a tiny laugh, though it sounded a little hysterical. "The mage…he's dead, right?"

Odahviing hesitated and it was enough to send the child into a panic. She pushed out of the bed and stumbled. "No! He has to be dead! Balgruuf killed him! I know he did!"

He was about to move to comfort her, but Lydia came in and beat him to the chase. She coaxed a shaking Emlen back to the bed and sat her down. She breathed deeply. Odahviing noticed she started to finger the robe she was in, as though nervous.

She suddenly looked at Lydia with urgency in her eyes. "Where's my armor?"

Lydia blinked. "I – you weren't in it when we found you."

Emlen stared at her, but then her eyes unfocused. She collapsed. Lydia just barely managed to catch her. She began to shudder. "He took it from me. He took my damn armor off and left me in my chemise…and damn it…I know it's over…I'm not getting out…He's going to kill me…"

She was starting to shake violently as she slipped into the intense memory. "Emlen!" Lydia shouted, giving her a shake.

Odahviing came over to her and grasped her shoulders. "Emlen," he commanded and she met his eyes. Her shaking calmed and she managed to breathe again.

"I'm sorry," she muttered shamefully.

Odahviing was about to answer that she shouldn't be, but Lydia responded faster. She pulled Emlen up by her arms and told her, "You've been through a lot. Stay focused and you'll be fine."

Emlen nodded and sat a little straighter. Odahviing noted that she seemed to do better when treated normally. She brought her hand up to her hair, and then curled her nose in disgust. "Lydia, can you go fill a bowl with water so I can get my hair clean?"

"I'll be right back," Lydia assured her, and went downstairs.

Emlen stood and looked at Odahviing and studied him. He stared right on back. She looked away first. "I have to go back and get my armor."

Odahviing raised his eyebrows. "You're not going back there."

"I'll do whatever the hell I want!" she snapped in response.

"Look at you, woman!" he snarled back and gestured to her thin robe.

She looked as though she might slap him. "I've got more armor!" She crossed her arms. "Besides, the armor he took from me isn't replaceable. I mean, you can't just go and buy it at the local blacksmith, and you sure as hell can't smith it yourself."

She turned around and opened the chest that was pushed up against the wall. He came to have a look and was shocked to see it was much bigger on the inside then the outside. It was filled with random trinkets, dragon bones and scales (he cringed), several weapons, and quite a bit of armor.

"What enchantment have you used on that?" he asked.

She shrugged. "It's a pretty basic lengthening charm. Standard on all chests, and many bags…"

She rummaged around inside, several times wincing as though she struck her hand on a sword or sharp edge of armor. She finally pulled out a deep black set of armor, with matching boots and gauntlets. "Ebony armor," she explained. "Some of the best."

She pushed it towards him. "I hope you can figure out how to put it on. You can change in Lydia's room."

He raised his eyebrows. "If it's the best, why aren't you wearing it?"

"It's heavy – I only wear light."

He stared at her blankly, and she frowned. "I suppose you have a lot to learn, don't you? Heavy and light armor are exactly what they sound like. Heavy armor uses something hard light steel, or in this case ebony. It'll protect you more, at the expense of ease of movement and sound. Light armor is usually made of cloth and gives you plenty of movement, and silence, at the expense of full protection."

She pulled out armor made out of what looked like leather, covered with straps and a lot of pockets. "I don't like to wear this, seeing as how it's kind of suspicious. But my Shrouded Armor is worse, so it'll have to do. I could always just say I got it off of a skeleton…"

"Why is it suspicious?"

"It's Thieves Guild Armor."

He stared at her. "You're a thief?"

She shrugged. "Not the worst I am."

He didn't entirely want to know what was worse so he took the armor she gave him and went across the hall to change.

XxXxXxX

Emlen gratefully accepted Lydia's help in getting her hair clean. They had to slice through several tangles with a dagger, but eventually made it presentable again. She consented to allow Lydia to put it in a side braid.

She pulled the armor on methodically, trying to avoid looking at her scarred stomach. "Where are you going?" Lydia asked.

Emlen was hesitant to tell her. The first time they had met, the woman had seemed weary of her. Emlen wasn't sure why. She supposed being the Dragonborn was ought to frighten a few people. But eventually, the woman revealed an oddly caring nature. She would always keep Emlen clean and sturdy and safe from falling on the road. She'd make her eat, and keep herself hydrated. And then she would stand beside her and fight every battle they encountered and let her stand her own.

Emlen had enjoyed the time they had spent together, but eventually, she found herself drifting towards a more silent type of warfare. It had been Lydia who gently suggested she returned to the house in Whiterun, because she hadn't been much help when Emlen had tried to snipe off enemies with her bow. Emlen hadn't wanted to ask it of her, but Lydia didn't seem to mind. She told her to take care of herself and to check in whenever she came to Whiterun, and then she left.

Now, Emlen was grateful for her mothering nature. She couldn't keep her thoughts straight, and she needed something steady. "I'm going back to the cave, Lydia," she confessed.

"Then I'm coming with you," Lydia answered instantly.

Emlen knew it was selfish – if the mage was there, they'd all be in trouble. But she was really grateful, because she wasn't sure she could do it alone, and she wasn't sure if Odahviing would be able to swing a sword. "Thank you," she said quietly, earnestly.

"I won't let you be hurt again," she promised.

Emlen nodded and then headed out into the hallway. Odahviing had just came out of the room, and had the armor on mostly right. "I'm impressed," she admitted. She adjusted a few straps a little self-consciously and then led him downstairs.

"Pick a weapon," she said, gesturing towards the plaques on the wall. He studied the weapons for a long moment and then wrapped his fingers around the hilt of an ebony greatsword. "Good choice," she said approvingly. She scanned the room. "Lydia, what did I do with my Nightingale bow?"

Lydia chuckled and reached under the table to pull out an intricate black bow. Emlen laughed a little awkwardly and then took the weapon. "I'm going after my Nightingale armor – it's my best. Of course, my ebony bow is better than this but I suppose he took that too…"

She shrugged as though she didn't care, but she fought off an onslaught of violent thoughts. "I'll have to buy some more arrows at The Drunken Huntsman. And see if you can swing that sword," she nodded towards Odahviing.

"You haven't told me your name," Lydia spoke up, speaking to the man.

Odahviing sent her a glare that clearly meant, it's none of your business.

Emlen found an answer easily. "Hunter. His name is Hunter."

Lydia seemed pacified and left through the door. Odahviing grasped her shoulder before she could continue. "Hunter?"

Emlen shrugged. "Your name means Winged Snow Hunter," she explained, and then ducked out the door before he could complain.