"You… I've seen you…" there was a slight pause, but the man's voice came again soon, sounding more shocked, "Let me see your face."
Her vision flickered to see an elderly man; his gray hair framed his aged face and his piercing blue eyes were speculating.
"You are the one from my dreams…." His voice wavered a bit as he gazed upon her. His mouth closed into a thin line. "The stars were right," he paused, nodding slightly. "This is the day… Gods give me strength."
Time almost seemed to speed up and skip as the scenery changed and the sounds seemed to crash together into a seemingly endless roar. It all halted when she lifted her hand to see a large, red amulet resting in her palm.
Her breath caught in her throat.
"No!" A blood-chilling scream rang out, causing Hilda's head to snap up.
She watched as a woman with similar fiery hair fell to her knees. Her shined armor had soot and smudges on it, her helmet rolling out of her grasp. Her expression was molded from pure horror.
"Gods, no," she exhaled heavily. "Martin!" She screamed before she bent forward, her shoulders shaking.
Casting a gaze up, Hilda couldn't help but gasp as she took in the stone avatar of Akatosh before her.
Hilda awoke with a start.
She jerked upright and looked around in the dim light dawn provided.
"You alright?"
The red head snapped her gaze on Delphine, who stood of few paces away, adjusting her leather armor. "Yeah…" She breathed a sigh of relief, the chill in the air causing her to shiver from her cold sweat. "Weird dreams."
The Breton examined her for a moment before nodding, going back to her own business. "It's been nearly two hours, we should get moving again. We're nearly to Windhelm."
The Nord simply nodded and got to her feet, picking up her pack that she had been using as a pillow.
After a few moments of situation and a number of comments from the smaller woman, the two were back on the road to the burial mound.
Hilda was exhausted, despite the rest she had gotten. Her body felt heavy, but her mind seemed to weigh more than she.
Akatosh.
She had one stood before Temple One in her travels. Saw the avatar herself and received its blessing. It would be a lie to say that it wasn't a moving experience… but it was nothing like the dream.
Hilda couldn't explain the feelings that had torn through her witnessing the red haired woman's despair.
Hopelessness.
Utter shock.
Hollowness.
The emptiness that filled her had been similar to one she had felt many years ago. When the dark haired woman was sprawled on the wooden floor beneath her, her abnormally pale skin sending chills down Hilda's spine, her paled lips moved, forming seemingly foreign words. Her hands tightly wrapped around her swollen midsection.
"Hilda!" A voice shook her from her thought.
The Nord's steps halted and she looked to the elder woman before her, who wore a concerned look. "Yes?"
"I told you that we're almost to Kynesgrove."
"Already?" The redhead asked, looking at their surroundings.
"Already?" The redhead asked, looking at their surroundings. "That was quick."
Delphine couldn't help but let out a snort at the other woman's reaction. "It's just down this road a ways."
"Shor's bones," Hilda shook her head, "it's been too long since I've been here."
The two continued on their way, a few wolves being left on the side of the trail here and there. Soon, the two women entered the small, Eastmarch town by dawn.
Instantly, Hilda bristled. "Something's not right..." She said softly, looking down the cobblestone road.
"Why do you say that?"
"The miners," she said softly. "They should be well on their way to the mines by now." She looked to the Breton woman.
Delphine nodded sharply before they began a quick pace up the path before a small group of civilians began to run past them.
"No! You don't want to go up there!" The innkeeper said in an exhausted breath. "A dragon's attacking!"
"Where did it go?" Delphine questioned, a hand moving to her sword.
The woman pointed up the path, "The ancient dragon burial mound," she turned to them with a terrified expression, "Gods be with you both."
The dragonborn and her companion began to sprint up the path. Nearing the mound, Hilda was stunned to see the familiar black wings from not even a full week's time before.
The two women were quick to crouch behind a nearby rock in their approach, slowly peeking their heads around the small shelter to see the revelation happening before them.
A shout erupted from the black beast, that shook the world beneath the two warriors' feet.
Delphine snapped her gaze to the mound in shock as the bones slowly began to break from the dirt below. With the sound of cracking ash, the scales slowly began to mold on the once dead dragon, "By the Gods."
Hilda's eyes never left the dragon flying overhead, the conversation between the dragons were lost to her, but when the black beast casted his red eyes on the rock, she froze.
He knows we're here.
Ulfric awoke with a start.
A small bottle of ink tipped over from the movement, ink slowly crawling across the parchment and the quill fell from his fingers.
"Damn," he muttered, looking at the ink smudges on his arms and hands and back to the black puddle. He sighed looking to the now ruined letter that had served as his head rest through the few hours of sleep he had received. He stood, walking to the water basin and began to scrub the ink from his skin.
He had received several letters from the Greymanes in Whiterun, describing the Jarl's neutrality.
He sighed as he shook the water off his hands.
"Ulfric!" Galmar's booming voice came from down the stone hall. "You need to get down here."
A small frown formed on his lips as he turned to dress quickly. He brow furrowed as he exited the room, pondering what could be the matter. Entering the throne room, he noticed a few civilians surrounding stone throne. He noted the messiness of the bunch, finding it a bit unusual for people to approach a jarl in such a manner. "Galmar," he called to his housecarl, "What has happened?"
"They're from Kynesgrove. You might want to listen to them." The second-in-command said simply. "I can't even believe it."
His brown seemed to furrow more as he approached his throne.
An aging woman turned to him with a look of fright, "My Jarl!" She nearly cried, "Please, you must send troops to defend our home from that beast!"
"Beast you say?" He raised a brow, "Tell me, what has happened?"
"A dragon has attacked our home!" A miner said, "I saw it as we ran from the town, Jarl Ulfric. Scales black as night..." The man shivered at the memory.
"What of the guards stationed there?"
"Most likely dead, my Jarl."
Ulfric sat back into the stone throne, his fingers kneaded his temple. "Galmar!"
"Yeah?" The housecarl looked up from his meal, his brow raised.
The Jarl straightened a bit, his hands falling to the armrests of the throne, "Send a detachment of men to Kynesgrove to investigate this dragon business. Make sure these people are safe to return home."
Nodding, Galmar stood from his seat and swiftly moved towards the barracks.
"Had there been any other things that happened?" The jarl looked back to the civilians.
A chorus of 'no's rang between them until a young woman tentatively stepped forward, "Yes, Jarl Ulfric. As we left the town, there were two women coming up the path... I told them to turn back, but they charged right up to the burial mound."
Ulfric was shocked, "Was anything unusual about them?"
The woman shook her head, "They seemed like common travelers."
Ulfric dismissed the civilians, his mind still trying to wrap around the entire situation.
Dragons truly have returned.
The jarl quickly stood and rushed back to his chambers, grabbing a new bottle of ink on his way. He retrieved a new roll of parchment from his bookcase. After smoothing the paper on his desk, he began his letter.
Swiftly, Hilda bounded out of the way of the stream of fire that escaped Sahlokniir's fearsome jaws. She let out an exhausted breath before readying her sword and lunging out the worm.
Delphine let out a cry as she leaned back onto a boulder, praying to the divines it would provide at least a little protection while she healed her wounds. Her labored breaths were the only thing she could hear as she dug through her pack to find the familiar red elixir. She let out what could only be called a sigh of relief as she tore the cork off and gulped down the bitter potion.
Tossing the emptied bottle aside, the Breton laid her head back as she began to feel the effects of the healing potion. Slowly, Delphine shifted in her position to watch the fiery haired Nord hop on to the dragon's bowed head.
Quickly trying to balance herself, Hilda lifted her sword high. After a moment to regain her composure, she thrusted her blade down and began to hack the beast's head. Blood began to run down her face as if it were sweat, her fierce grimace never faltering in each baneful blow she delivered to the dragon.
"Hilda!" The Breton shouted as she noticed the beast preparing to retaliate.
The Nord narrowly escaped a nasty fall that the beast had been preparing to deliver. She landed on the ground before the beast with her bloodied sword still in hand.
"Dovahkiin," the beast hissed.
Narrowing her cold glare, Hilda steadied herself before launching herself forward, plunging her sword deep into the dragon's gullet.
Delphine slowly stood, never taking her eyes off the woman and the fallen dragon. "Wait," she said, beginning to stop towards Hilda, who was removing her sword. "Something's happening."
The red haired Nord slowly backed away from the crackling carcass.
"By the Gods," the Breton exasperated as she watched the very soul of the dragon rip from its body. The soul itself was visible, slowly trailing through the air and being absorbed into her companion's body. "It's true." She said softly, "You really are dragonborn."
Hilda looked to the blonde woman, "You owe me some answer, yeah?"
Delphine nodded, "I guess I do."
"Who are you and what do you want with me?"
"I'm one of the last members of the Blades. I've been waiting to meet a dragonborn, like you, for a while."
Blinking, Hilda looked gave the Blade a confused look, "I thought the Blades were the emperor's personal bodyguards."
"Were." Delphine annunciated. "The Great War ended that. The Thalmor hunted us down and exterminated us."
"Because you guarded the Septims?" The dragonborn concluded.
The blonde woman nodded, "We were a threat to their Talos-free religion."
The redhead was quiet for a moment, "So what happens now, Delphine?"
With a bit of a smile, Delphine began, "The Thalmor has to be behind this somehow. And we're going to find out what they've done."
Hilda sighed, "Time to go to work, I guess."
"Aye," the older woman nodded, "it's time to work."
There she was again.
The hooded stranger.
Ulfric furrowed his brows as he entered the throne room from the briefing room, Galmar a few steps behind him. It was the third time in the last day that he had seen the mysterious woman talking to his steward.
After the woman exited, once again, Ulfric's curiosity got the best of him. "Jorleif," the jarl called.
The red haired man perked at his name, "Yes, Lord Ulfric?"
"Who was that?"
The man blinked, "Oh, her? She didn't give a name. She's helping solve those murders though, praise the Gods." He paused, "Though, she asked an odd question when she first came in."
The leader of Eastmarch perked a brow, "And what was that?"
The steward paused in his response, trying to understand the question himself. "She asked about the Stormborn home."
Ulfric blinked, "The Stormborn home?"
He nodded, "She asked if anyone had been there since the murders."
The jarl was quiet for a moment, processing the information.
"Why in Oblivion would anyone want to know about those ruins?" Galmar shook his head.
"It's her home." Ulfric said, turning from the other two men to make his way to the table for supper.
The second-in-command snorted, "Horse shit," he laughed. "Ulfric, they're all dead. They've been dead for… how long? Twenty years now?"
"There was a woman in Helgen," the man recounted. "She claimed to be a Stormborn of Eastmarch."
"She's lying."
"No," Ulfric massaged his temple, "she's the spitting image of Ragnar."
Galmar stood there, stunned. His mouth would occasionally open to give some sort of explanation, but would quickly shut. After a few moments, he simply said: "By Ysmir's beard."
The jarl could only nod. "I would guess she's not the only Stormborn, if you want to be truly accurate."
Galmar shook his head, "Not this again, Ulfric."
Jorleif furrowed his brow, "What do you mean, my Lord?"
The two other men looked at the steward with shocked expressions. "Get out of this damn Palace, Jorleif." Galmar nearly spat before returning to the briefing room.
Ulfric laughed a bit before turning to Jorleif, "The Stormborn blood runs in my veins as well, friend."
The steward frowned, "The Stormborns haven't been in powers-"
"Aye, Aye," the jarl waved the man's disbelief, "It's a long story. Yes, it's true, the Stormborns haven't ruled Windhelm for eras, not since Ysgramor's bloodline ended. You see, the Stormborns were a clan within Ysgramor's five-hundred companions that had aided the settlement of Windhelm. They were powerful enough to stake claim to the throne of kings during the war of succession and that lasted for generations. When Arne came to power, he had married Groa, from another family. When he died in battle, she took control of Windhelm and of the Stormborn family.
"Gram, Arne's younger brother, believed that an outsider should never have a claim to the head of the family and of Windhelm. He rose against Groa and was able to sack Windhelm with his family and declare himself king. Groa stripped him of the Stormborn name, creating two families. Groa's descendants ruled over the dwindling Stormborns while Gram's descendants ruled over Windhelm, the way it has remained since then."
"Why did Groa just let the city go?"
Ulfric sighed a bit, trying to grasp onto the tales he was told. "It was said that she, along with the rest of the Stormborn family, had enough with the bloodshed. She let him have his city to maintain peace, other say she and Gram were lovers and she was in too much heartache to fight back." Ulfric chuckled, "I doubt she would have sat idly back, though. She had the fiery hair to match her temper." He paused a moment before revealing a hint of a smile. "Ragnar was like that."
"Ragnar Stormborn, my lord?"
"Aye," the Jarl shook his head at the mention of the name. "Bastard was one of kind, but he was a good man. Quick tempered, but one of the best men to follow into battle… I met him while I was in the Legion. Poor bastard never left the war."
"Dragonborn," the speaker of the Greybeards came forward as the Nord woman entered the temple.
Hilda stopped before the elder man, lowering her head in respect, "Master Arngeir, I have retrieved the horn."
The aged man couldn't help but have a look at pride, "Follow me, dragonborn, it is time."
Hilda perked a brow, "Time? Time for what, master?"
"To formally recognize you as dragonborn." The man paused to take in the words he spoke, "It has been too long since such a ritual has happened." The elder turned slowly and began to make his way into the heart of the temple, were the other Greybeards had met.
The red head inhaled deeply before closing her eyes.
After a moment, she exhaled. Reopening her eyes, she took the first step towards a fate foretold eras before her own time.
She was no longer simply Hilda Stormborn.
She was dragonborn; her body was of man, but her soul was of the ancient beasts that used to rule the lands she walked.
She was first dragonborn in ages, but she was also the last the world would ever see.
Holy cow I am so sorry to make everyone wait almost two months! I've gotten busy, as of late, and I've started school again.
Anyways, this is what I managed to write over the period of time and be sure to look for updates or even follow the story, because there will be some.
And I covered a lot about Hilda's family, and this is why she claimed she was from Windhelm in the beginning, but said she was of Eastmarch, if that makes any sense to anyone aside from me.
Anyways, reviews are always welcome and I will be updating again soon!