The Jarl had already heard the rumors of the dragon attacking Helgen, but hearing it from someone who had survived the attack shocked him. Minerva knew he had a hard time believing her and Ralof, but it was the truth and she was glad that he believed them in the end. The court mage, Farengar, had sent her on an errand to retrieve the Dragonstone. Ralof wanted to accompany her, but the Jarl insisted he wanted to learn more about the dragon so he heavy heartedly had to stay behind.
Retrieving the Dragonstone had been a thrilling and exciting adventure, made only worse by the fact that she had to face draugr for the first time in her life. She'd never fought undead before, and was glad when she came out of the ruin without so much as a scratch. She had also found a strange wall that contained ancient words. The power that radiated from the wall surged through her, making her feel stronger than before.
She'd given the Dragonstone to Farengar as soon as she returned, and earned the Jarl's praise and thanks for the effort, but there was no time to celebrate. The Jarl had disturbing news about a dragon attacking the nearest outpost.
Irileth, the Jarl's personal guard, was leading her, Ralof and a handful of guards to the outpost. Even from this distance, they could hear the roars of the dragon that flew above the outpost. Minerva swallowed hard as she watched the beast from afar. Facing a bear or wolf or draugr was nothing compared to a dragon.
"Look at the size of it," commented Ralof from beside her. He was staring at the dragon in awe, just as the others as they slowly erased the distance between them and the vicious beast.
"It's nothing I have ever faced before," she admitted.
They walked for another short while before Irileth stopped and turned to face them. Her voice was loud as she spoke words of courage, telling them they shouldn't be afraid of one dragon facing twenty men. Minerva wanted to believe her wholeheartedly, but what were a handful of humans compared to a dragon? From all the legends and myths she had heard, they were unlike anything a normal mortal could defeat. Their Shout could tear their enemies apart. In this case, it would tear them apart.
Irileth drew her sword and gave the all clear to attack. Minerva and Ralof did so as they ran after the guards who seemed too eager to fight the dragon. The dragon spotted them from afar and kept its deadly eyes on them. Like a statue, it gazed down at its enemies from the watchtower, unmoving and still, waiting for their desperate attacks. Minerva admired the beauty of this living being, while also fearing its might.
Suddenly the dragon soared up into the skies and let out a loud, angry Shout that darkened the sky with black clouds.
Heavy rain started to fall, making it almost impossible to track the dragon as it circled around the tower. Minerva watched the guards try to aim their arrows at the dragon, but it was too far away and too fast. Not knowing what else to do, she held her sword in one hand, in the other she prepared her fire magic and waited for the dragon to land so she could attack it. The guards held their aims at the dragon as it slowly descended down on the tower.
The guards let their arrows fly with a roar, but the dragon didn't even acknowledge them. Minerva watched in awe as the dragon kept its deadly gaze on her. Without looking away the dragon shouted again, knocking everyone down to the ground. Everyone, except her.
"Faazrot," it spoke, the dragon language carried across the wind and sent chills up her spine. "Tah do sahlag jul midrak dovah, athaal wah nahkip dii bahlok." The guards were slowly getting up on their feet as the dragon continued to speak in the ancient language of the Thu'um. She knew it was addressing her, but she couldn't understand one word. Even so, she wondered why the dragon even bothered talking to them.
Suddenly it soared again, and everything around her died as she watched the dragon landing right in front of her. The ground shook violently below her feet and she stumbled, refusing to look away from the deadly beast that had its eyes on her. She knew she was caught like a prey, her body too crippled by fear to do something other than stare at the beast.
"Nuz Zu'u honah lot suleyk ko daar gein," when it spoke, its voice sounded softer, almost as if it was wondering about something. She had managed to take a few backwards steps before she stumbled over a stone, falling down on the ground hard. The dragon followed her and refused to look away.
"Vust nii kos?" to her, it sounded like a question, but she didn't give a damn. She stood up on her feet and glared at the creature, daring it to attack her. At least she would die honorably.
But instead of attacking her, it growled, "Dovahkiin," and she froze. The dragon said the word Dovahkiin while looking her straight in the eye. She knew from the stories her father had told her what it meant, who and what the Dovahkiin was. The realization terrified her.
"Minerva!" shouted Ralof before he dug his battleaxe deep into the dragon's leg. The dragon roared in pain before it flew up into the skies.
The dragon landed on the destroyed watchtower and glared at its enemies. Its twisted, deep voice carried across the air as it spoke, "Petty humans! Your courage is build out of ignorance! I, the mighty Milmunir, will show you the powers of a true dovah!" As the dragon ascended into the skies again, his fire directed at its enemies, Minerva couldn't do anything else but watch as it burned down everything and everyone around her. Screams of pain and fear echoed around her, the dragon letting out its furry with the breath of fire. She was too crippled by her fear to move as she watched the dragon flying towards her, readying the breath of fire again.
Someone tackled her to the ground and the dragon flew just above them, the fire missing them by mere inches. Too dazzled to make out her surroundings, she was pulled back up on her feet by Ralof. "We have to bring it down!" he yelled and that's when Minerva finally regained her senses. She was no coward, and she intended to prove anyone that she could fight.
Quickly thinking of a way to bring the dragon down, she glanced around to make sure how many had survived the first wave of its attack. When she called for them, only ten men emerged, including Irileth. Half of them were already dead.
"Alright, I have a plan," she used the time the dragon flew around burning down the fields to tell the guards what she had in mind. "I will get its attention. You have to ready your arrows and shoot its wings!"
Irileth shook her head. "It's too risky!" she warned.
Minerva turned her narrowed gaze to the Dunmer as she wondered, "So you have a better plan then?" When the Jarl's steward remained silent, Minerva returned her attention to the guards, adding, "I promise none of you will die! You just have to bring it down. Ralof and I will take care of the rest!"
One by one the guards nodded in agreement. Sheathing the sword and summoning her fire and ice spell, she ordered the guards to get ready before she turned to the skies. "Milmunir!" she yelled, but the dragon kept burning down the fields, completely unfazed by her call. She had to think of something to get its attention.
Swallowing hard, she decided to try something, even though she had little faith it would work. "The Dovahkiin challenges you!" she yelled into the sky and froze as she watched the dragon change its course.
It descended just a few feet away from her. Minerva backed away without tearing her gaze from it but the beast followed her every step, not allowing her to escape.
"Now!" she shouted and the guards emerged from their cover before they shot their arrows at its wings. The dragon couldn't have predicted their attack, and when the arrows pierced the tender flesh of its wings it roared in pain.
"How dare you?!" it shouted, the ground beneath them shaking with the ferocity of the dragon's voice. Minerva summoned her strongest fire and ice spell and released it into the dragon's head, but the spell seemed to do little damage. Ralof came running from the side and cleaved the axe into its neck, earning another roar of pain from it. The other guards came at the dragon with their weapons drawn, all trying desperately to kill the beast.
Minerva took her sword and ran towards the dragon as it was distracted by the guards, before she jumped onto its neck. The dragon tried to shake her off, but she slowly climbed up its scaly neck. Once she reached the head, she tightly gripped one of the scales and readied her sword with the other. She stabbed the sword into the dragons right eye before quickly pulling it out and stabbing it into its left.
It shook its head violently and she was thrown to the ground. The dragon kept shaking its head and roaring in pain, the sound deafening. "Dur hi, Dovahkiin!" it yelled.
Minerva didn't waste any second; she ran towards it and climbed the dragon's neck, reaching the middle half of it before she stabbed her sword into the tender flesh. Blood seeped out of the wound as she dragged the sword down with her weight, until her feet touched the ground and she pulled the sword out. The dragon fell limp before them, even as the blood continued to flow she somehow expected it to attack them.
Minerva stared at the dead dragons head and relaxed with each passing second. Its dead, she kept telling herself but somehow found it hard to believe, even if the evidence was right before her eyes. Suddenly its skin ignited and started to burn off of its bones.
"By Ysmir..." said one guards before the others emerged, all watching the strange scenario unfolding in front of them. As the skin continued to burn off, she watched a wave of energy pass through her, filling her body with strength she had never felt before.
All that remained of the dragon were its bones, everyone staring at the pile that, only seconds before, had almost killed them all. Ralof came up to her, his eyes looking her up in search for any wounds before he asked, "Are you alright?"
Minerva, feeling dizzy from the overwhelming power, only managed to nod before she walked past him, ready to go back to Whiterun.
"Dragonborn," said one of the guards in awe as she passed them. Minerva froze in place and turned to glare at the guard who'd dared to call her the same as the dragon.
Her eyes narrowed as she stopped in front of him, standing as tall as she could in front of the Nord when she asked threateningly, "What did you just call me?"
The guard, clearly afraid of her, stuttered when he explained, "Only the Dragonborn of legend can kill a dragon by absorbing its soul. It's what you just did!"
The other guards gasped and whispered among themselves. Irileth stepped up, pulling the crowd's attention to her as she yelled, "Enough! We don't have time for fairy tales! We need to report back to the Jarl."
Just as the guards followed her order and dispersed towards Whiterun, an ethereal voice sounded from the heavens, the ground below them shaking.
"Dovahkiin!"
Minerva looked up to the sky in fear another dragon attacked them, and readied her sword and magic to fight it.
"The Greybeards," whispered Ralof, and her eyes met his. "They... they just called for the Dragonborn," he clarified. She narrowed her eyes at him.
Everyone was staring at her, every pair of eyes laid on her. She felt dizzy from the unwanted attention, and she slowly backed away. There was a question in Ralof's eyes but she turned and left towards the city before he could give voice to it.
The recent events rested heavily on her consciousness as she reminisced about the dragon and how she, allegedly, absorbed its soul. She shuddered at the thought that the legend of the Dragonborn could have something to do with her. The thought that she might be the Dragonborn made her question the divines and their motives, and why they would choose the daughter of a farmer to bless her with such power.
So much had happened today, things she wanted to forget but they rested heavily on her soul. She frowned, admitting that she needed a cold drink in order to process everything.
####
Several hours later…
"There you are!"
Minerva lifted her attention from the mug to find Ralof standing next to the table, his features relaxed. She groaned and emptied the mug in front of her before refilling it.
She retreated to the Bannered Mare after she'd reported the death of the dragon to the Jarl of Whiterun. However, before she had managed to leave Dragonsreach, he'd bestowed upon her the title of Thane and had given her the housecarl, Lydia. Minerva didn't care for the title nor the woman, and she made her way towards the inn to drown her worries in the cheapest and distasteful ale of Skyrim.
As time passed she understood the importance of the title but thanks to the ale she found quickly it had no importance to her. She didn't even spare him a glance before commenting, "I thought I made it clear that I want to be alone." She hoped the dismissal was clear and he would leave, but she rolled her eyes when he took the seat opposite of her.
He leaned forward, his voice soft when he wondered, "Do you want to talk about what happened?" She looked up from the mug and found he was genuinely concerned about her, but that didn't make it easier for him.
"If I wanted to talk about it, I would've done so," she retorted harshly, her eyes narrowing further when she added, "I don't. That's why I left without inviting anyone with me."
He sighed deeply, muttering, "You're sometimes as stubborn as a donkey," to which her eyes widened in outrage.
"Did you just call me a donkey?!" she growled through gritted teeth, the hand holding the mug starting to shake. She was ready to throw it at him if he didn't apologize soon, but all she received from him was his beaming smile.
"Finally, a reaction!" he exclaimed. Minerva resisted the urge to spill the ale on his face for his insult, but decided he wasn't worth it. Throwing the contents of the mug down her throat before ordering another flask of ale, she decided to ignore him. However, that turned out to be an impossible task because he wouldn't stop talking.
"Look," he started, his voice barely above the bard's music. "I understand your reaction. The Greybeard's haven't called for anyone in decades, and now they call for you when you kill a dragon. I understand that is a lot to process, but you have to understand what an honor it is to be summoned by the Greybeard's. You are chosen by them, you have to answer their call!" he said the last enthusiastically, his eyes gleaming with it.
Although he tried to sound convincing, he wasn't succeeding. Minerva still had a hard time believing that she was the Dragonborn, and that everything had been just a coincidence. Doubt poisoned her thoughts when she wondered, "How do you know they called for me? How are we certain they didn't summon someone else who is the Dragonborn?"
Ralof chuckled before he explained softly, "There is no doubt you are Dragonborn. We all saw what happened, how you absorbed the dragons soul. Believe me, there is no greater honor than the call of the Greybeard's."
"Why don't you go up to High Hrothgar?" she wondered, her eyes narrowing suspiciously, "It seems to me you would be too eager to go up there and train with them, even though you are a Nord. And Nords are warriors who rely on their brute strength, am I right? Using anything beyond your brute strength is considered weak by your race. Correct me if I am wrong."
Ralof furrowed his brows as he stared at the table, thinking about what she said before he answered, "We are warriors, yes, but the Way of the Voice is not taught to wage war."
Minerva watched him for a moment longer before she lowered her gaze to her mug. She didn't know why she was so afraid to accept the Greybeard's call. The Dragonborn was a legendary warrior who had always arrived in the end times to save the people from the World-Eater. Being Dragonborn meant being loved by the people, praised and cherished until the end of times. The Dragonborn was feared and respected by anyone, the strength of their Thu'um feared even by the dragons. Or at least, that was what her father had told her.
His stories about the Dragonborn were full of heroic deeds and the people's love for the legendary warrior. Minerva had always listened to the stories of her father in awe, always pictured herself as the Dragonborn and fantasized about the fame she would gain. Now, that fantasy threatened to become her reality, though she wasn't certain if she desired this life now.
She emptied the mug and slammed it back on the table as the thoughts of her deceased father threatened to turn her into a crying heap. She swallowed the sour liquid and returned her focus to a worried Ralof when she growled, "As much as I enjoy talking to you, I would now ask you to leave me alone."
His expression fell with disappointment and he looked even more worried now. He shook his head slightly when he tried to talk her into visiting the Greybeard's, "Minerva, please think this through. If you are truly the Dragonborn, then you have a responsibility. You have a purpose to fulfill."
"I have thought about it, and I say that I don't care," she admitted lowly, before filling the mug again. She raised the mug in mock salute before she emptied it, slamming it back on the table.
The look on Ralof's face was that of utter disappointment as he slowly stood from the chair before he took his leave. Watching him leave didn't make the situation any easier to face, it made it only worse. An insistent cloak of sadness embraced her, she had never felt this lonely before even with the tavern filled with people. The loneliness swallowed the will to drink and Minerva pushed the mug away, then called for the waitress to pay. She threw a small gold pouch into the woman's hands before she hurried out of the tavern, her mind blank.
Doubt and uncertainty started to gnaw at her soul as she passed through the door, then walked the now empty streets of Whiterun towards the city gates. She had no idea where to go or what to do, part of her heart told her to answer the Greybeard's but she refused nonetheless. After a while she marched through the city gates and came to a stop.
Ralof was sitting on the stone wall, his arms at his sides as she looked at her. She walked past him without regarding him, and her annoyance grew when she heard him follow her. "I thought I made it clear to be left alone?!" she threatened without looking at him while she continued to walk.
He was silently following her until they passed the drawbridge, she stopped and turned to face him. He almost bumped into her but managed to stop, asking, "Where are you going?"
She continued to walk without answering him, and managed to take only a few steps before his hand pulled her to a stop. He turned her to face him, his face tight with concern when he pleaded, "Minerva, please, answer me."
Yanking her hand from his, she admitted, "To where I originally intended to go before the Imperials mistook me for a Stormcloak."
The wheels were turning behind his eyes as he thought, and realization dawned upon him when he remarked, "To Winterhold?" and Minerva continued to walk without any confirmation.
The two continued their walk towards Whiterun's stables, the frustration bubbled inside of her because of Ralof's persistent presence, so she gave her best to ignore him. She remained silent when he kept following her, and only when he bought the second horse from the stable owner did she grow tired of him.
"What do you think you're doing?!" she demanded as she held the steeds reigns, watching as Ralof mounted the bought steed.
He didn't hesitate a second to answer, "To Windhelm. The roads are unsafe and it would be better if we traveled together."
Despite her foul mood, she was glad she didn't have to travel most of the way alone. He was right when he said the roads were unsafe, dragons, sabre cats and other wild beings could threaten her any time. With the two traveling together, they would have a better chance to reach their destinations unharmed.
Minerva mounted the steed and the two trotted of to Windhelm, Ralof to join the Stormcloak's, and Minerva to resume her journey to Winterhold.