AN: I realized LONG after I wrote it that I really didn't deal with dragons in my first fic. Maybe it was because I didn't find them particularly exciting in the game itself (I played a wizard, so just stunlocking them with destruction spells made them a joke and they were scarier as a threat to NPCs I didn't want dead.) but I never really showed the Dragonborn as a dragon killing machine. As always, please feel free to leave any reviews or criticisms you want. Regardless of whether its positive or not, I love to hear back from anyone who reads my work. Don't forget, you can PM me if you don't want to actually post a public review.
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To Miir it seemed like every guard in the city had gathered by the gates and for once that many armed lawmen comforted the Khajiit slightly. The guards were neatly assembled in small squads and a few other people who were armed with bows stood nearby. Each face was pinched with fear or worry as they gathered together by the ancient gate of Whiterun. They all knew that the tall walls were useless against an enemy that could fly, though.
Miir was surprised to see the elf from the fort there as well, but the man now wore simple black robes and his hands flickered with arcane powers. All together there were about two dozen bowmen here but that seemed like a paltry number to go against a dragon with. After all, one dragon had destroyed all of Fort Helgen and that place had been well garrisoned.
A grizzled Nord called out, "The creature attacked the western tower and killed six of our men there. The others are still holding out and distracting it. We doubt they'll last long though. Look sharp, boys, or we'll all be burned to a crisp."
Not a very motivating speech, mused Miir as he fell in at the back of the formation where he could easily sprint away from the battle if the forces of Whiterun looked like they were going to lose.
The group rushed down the spiralling ramp that led out of the city's gates as a bloom of light not too far off illuminated the light and made the silhouette of the dragon clear before darkness fell once more. Their collective steps were hurried as they rushed to save the people who might still be alive in the tower.
Miir fearfully clutched his bow in his hand as he looked skyward to try and see the dragon against the blackness of the night. He looked at the stars overhead, trying to see if any were suddenly blotted out by the dragon's bulk. For the first time in a long time he felt real fear and real helplessness as he lost sight of the dragon in the murky sky. He imagined the sudden flare of light and heat washing over him as the dragon ambushed them from on high and he shuddered to himself.
A deafening roar cut through the night as another burst of fire rolled over the partially demolished watchtower. "Ready your bows!" cried the captain unnecessarily as the soldiers placed arrows on their strings without drawing the bows.
The beast launched itself into the night sky again as it disappeared into the blackness, but it streaked back around with another blaze of fire that seemed to melt the stones that composed the tower. That blaze revealed it to the waiting archers and a volley of arrows shot through the night and towards the dragon.
While most of them bounced harmlessly off of its scaled hide, several must've found their mark for the creature screeched in agony as it writhed before regaining control of itself. A bolt of lightning flashed out from the Altmer's hands and rocked the dragon again. This time the creature's roar was pained as it forcefully beat the air with its wings and took to higher altitudes.
No one was stupid enough to think that was the end of it.
"There!" cried Miir as he pointed up at the barely visible shape that moved in the night sky. The dragon swooped over them before hovering for a moment.
Arrows shot up at it along with another bolt of lightning before the captain roared, "Scatter!" The group split up in all directions as another jet of fire shot down. Two men weren't fast enough and their screams were cut short as the blaze incinerated them in a brutal flash.
They could hear the whoosh as the dragon beat its wings once more and it disappeared into the dark again. Miir steadied his breath as terror clawed at his consciousness and urged him to run into the darkness, to escape the death that surely awaited him if he stayed here, but the Khajiit steadied his breath as he readied an arrow and looked into the heavens.
Firing off the volleys of arrows wasn't helping. Though this dragon was much smaller than the one that destroyed Helgen, it would take an army's fire to bring the creature down. No, this had to be done with precision.
Evidently the Altmer sighted the beast as he shot blasts of lightning into the sky and the responding roars told the Khajiit that the elf's spells were hurting the creature.
The dragon pulled into a dive that would place its breath squarely on the elf, who continued to strike at the creature instead of moving aside. Miir knew the wizard was their best chance of winning, and he watched the dragon's trajectory.
He held his breath, unwilling to let anything disrupt the shot he was about to make. A single shot might do what a volley of arrows would be unable to accomplish. He exhaled as he released the arrow, which disappeared into the darkness of night. Miir would only be able to tell if his shot was successful if the elf wasn't incinerated moments later.
Fire just started boil out of the dragon's maw when the beast roared in agony and snapped its head to the side and released the gout of death harmlessly into the night air as Miir's arrow hit its eye.
A series of ice shards shot up from the wizard and ripped holes in the dragon's wings before he dived aside. The large lizard slammed into the earth and ploughed a furrow into the earth as its weight and momentum played out on the hard earth. "Draw swords!" roared the captain as the warriors charged the dragon in a heap. Miir stayed back and continued to pepper its head with arrows as the elf struck it time and again with his bolts of ice.
The dragon wasn't so easily cowed despite the crowd that swarmed over it. Several soldiers took advantage of its weakness to slash large rents in its wings to ensure that it was unable to fly away, but that didn't save them from being thrown aside when it lashed out with one of its wings.
Another roar split the night as the dragon whipped its tail back and forth. Soldiers screamed and threw themselves aside as they tried to dodge the deadly bludgeon. Several screams were cut short by the crunch of breaking bones and crumpling armour as the tail scattered the men.
Miir continued to maintain his steely calm as he fired arrow after arrow into the gargantuan creature's head. The bone mask around its features bristled with arrows as Miir and the other archers ran through their supply of ammunition. The Khajiit nearly flinched as a blaze of fire reduced two swordsmen to piles of ash and molten metal but he maintained his aim and sunk another arrow into a small chink in the dragon's natural armour. A quick glance at his quiver told him that he only had five arrows remaining.
Blue light washed over the scene and drowned the fading yellow light of the fire as a massive spike of ice shot from the wizard's hands and into the underside of the dragon's jaw. The magical ice speared through the beast's flesh but failed to stab higher into its brain. Its agonized cry nearly deafened the Khajiit as it lashed its head back and forth in an effort to dislodge the icy projectile.
The bravest soldiers were starting to climb on top of the slowly failing dragon as the beast's struggles began to weaken. As they mounted the creature they plunged their blades into it and gouts of hot blood poured from the wound.
Four arrows left, thought Miir as he sunk another shot into the dragon's neck. Two more shots of ice plunged into the dragon's neck and with a final, agonized cry it collapsed to the ground. Miir could see the elf leap back as the dragon nearly crushed him.
A wide grin split his features as he looked at the fallen creature. It seemed entirely surreal that they had killed such a nightmare. Some of the soldiers on the dragon's back didn't realize they had won and continued to plunge their blades into its body in a bloody frenzy.
It wasn't until the body started to emit a strange light that they slid off of its corpse in fear. Miir's smile slipped from his face and he reflexively bared his teeth as he willed his aching arms to pull another arrow back and be ready for whatever the creature would throw at them next.
The dragon seemed to burst into flame and its skin flaked away as molten light began to break out from the gaps in its hide. As the scales and horns flaked away into nothingness they seemed to remain as embers drifting through the air. While all the Nords around the creature seemed terrified of the process that the body was undergoing, the Altmer seemed mesmerized by it. Miir looked at the elf, who seemed to be rooted to the earth as he stood before the fallen creature's head, simply stared into the building light as more of the dragon's flesh turned into light until it was only a pile of bones.
With the sudden sound of rushing air, the light exploded away from the dragon and shot into the elf.
Miir wondered if this was a final, spiteful attack on the wizard who had been instrumental in its downfall and he winced as he saw the elf arch his back as the light swirled around him. The Khajiit expected the wizard to be incinerated or burst into flames, but the light quickly subsided as it seemed to sink into the wizard's form.
The elf looked dazed and confused as he looked up at the Nords surrounding him. Miir could see the elf's mouth moving slightly, but he couldn't hear what the man was saying until the elf murmured "Fus." A deafening burst of sound cratered the earth in front of him and this act seemed to shake the wizard out of his stupor.
"He spoke with the Voice!" whispered one of the archers near Miir with a voice of wonder.
"What?" asked Miir with confusion. Of course the elf had used his voice to speak.
Cries of "Dragonborn!" began to come up from around the crowd of surviving soldiers and mercenaries.
Miir was still confused as he watched awe, hope, and joy wash over the faces of the others around him. He also carefully noted the confusion and anger that coloured some of the faces of the Nords around him but he paid more attention to the euphoric celebration that seemed to swirl around the elf, who had been swarmed by cheering and backpatting warriors. The Khajiit shrugged and figured that if a creature of a myth he knew had just died by his hands he would also be more ecstatic.
He followed the gathered crowd of both rescuers and rescued soldiers as they rushed in a cheering mass towards Whiterun as a resounding cheer of "Dragonborn!" punctuated their charge home. The wounded were still carried with extreme care, despite the excitement that characterized the emotions filling the air.
The Altmer seemed to be the center of attention and Miir was pleased to sit on the sidelines for now and watch the situation unfold.
Whiterun's gates were quickly thrown open to admit the returning party and a few of Kynnareth's priests were ready to receive the wounded. Miir smiled wryly as he saw Danica administering drops of the Gildergreen's healing sap to the wounded. Had he believed that the gods kept an active hand in the fate of mortals, Miir would have thought he saw their work in the renewed tree. Instead he saw the work of gold and his own skills saving the soldiers.
The soldiers' captain watched his wounded being cared for as a crowd gathered around him. To the Khajiit, it looked like the entire city was gathering before the returned soldiers and they looked up with excitement at the man.
In a resounding, battlefield commanding voice the old Nord roared to the crowd, "We have killed a foe, a monster, from legend. Its death not only took our fear but gave us something more. It showed us the Dragonborn!"
With a suitably theatrical gesture the man swept his arm down and indicated the elf. All eyes turned to regard the Altmer with surprise and in a moment that surprise exploded into elation as the crowd cheered its approval.
Quietly, in the back of the crowd, Miir's eyebrows shot up as he watched a crowd of Nords scream their hearts out for a High Elf. He knew very little of the politics of the region but the Nords' hate for the Thalmor was well known.
Barely audible over the din of the crowd, the captain called for a celebration and the Khajiit's ears perked up at the mention of that. The crowd surged around the High Elf and urged him towards the Bannered Mare as the usually reserved Nords, who had been staring down a dragon's maw just a short while ago, were now letting all of their collective fear turn into exuberance.
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Miir wasn't sure how far into the early morning he was. Whiterun was alight with celebrants who danced in the streets, sang the praises of the gods and the Dragonborn, and retold the old tales of the bravery of men in ancient times.
Mead flowed freely as the city celebrated what seemed like a grand victory to them and for once Miir was welcomed into the festivities without reservation. He had just gotten used to the suspicious glances and hesitation, but it was exciting to be embraced with such fervour.
While it seemed that every Nord was drinking with the aim of getting blackout drunk, the Khajiit was quickly trying to catch up.
His hazy mind had wandered back along the last few hours. He could distinctly remember bringing his gear back to his room at the inn, changing into light cotton clothes, and securely locking the door behind him before returning to the street.
Bards had to compete to be heard over small groups of drunken men trying to sing along as the night had begun and others had quickly begun to dance around bonfires.
The flickering firelight was constantly obscured by the dancing of revellers, and the alternating splashes of light and dark made the entire night seem surreal as the catman felt his blood burn with the energy of the Nords around him.
Then he had gotten to the drink and his memory grew hazier as he tried to recall it all.
His attention snapped back to the present as a pretty Nord woman snatched his wrists and pulled him into a whirling dance. Had the Khajiit not been as agile as he already was, the whirling would have likely thrown him to the ground. As it was he was kept up and laughed as the Nord woman began to emit her own tinkling peal of joy. He didn't know why he was laughing – he was just happy.
She released his wrists as another Nord man staggered towards them. That man only spun a few times before he fell down and dragged her down too. They landed in a heap that wasn't quite accidental.
Miir let the two likely-to-be lovers have their moment as he heard a loud cheer come up from the next street over. He saw a small, dark alley between two houses and headed down it as he sought a way to the next street. His steps were still naturally soft despite his slight inebriation and he heard a very familiar sounding gasp of pleasure from the darkness ahead of him.
The Khajiit didn't even try to hide his presence as his gaze adjusted to the darkness and he saw two men, both with their pants around their ankles, making love in the alleyway.
Little flickers of stray light that would have gone unnoticed to Nord eyes gave the scene flashes of clarity to the Khajiit's gaze as he slowly approached the pair. Miir wasn't sure whether it was the mead or the sight of the strong Nord bodies, but he felt almost hypnotized as he strode closer and closer to the two men.
Two male bodies twined in lust in the alley, but only the blond one looked strong and aware. The other, a brown hair man, looked desperate and hungry. He looked at Miir through the smoky air with a look that haunted the Khajiit and reminded him of himself sometimes.
Without another word Miir turned and left the men to their bodily needs. He didn't want to think about the bearded man anymore. He tried to focus his drunken mind on his last objective and he returned to his journey to the other street. Emerging from the darkness of the alleyway he was greeted by the explosion of light and music that was the group celebrating there.
Three bards sang in time for the crowd's pleasure as the people danced. A mead bottle was pressed into his hand and Miir downed it in one long gulp, trying to wash away the image of the bearded Nord. He managed to find another bottle and another after that as the night grew hazier around him.
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A thin sliver of sunlight broke through the heavy curtains that were drawn across the windows and sent more than a thin sliver of agony into Miir's eyes as the Khajiit rolled away from the source of the light. Or, at least he tried to but he was stopped by another body who grunted with annoyance. Unable to escape the light, Miir decided to turn his head and crack open his eyes a little.
The dimly lit room made the Khajiit come into full wakefulness and become aware of the splitting headache that suddenly dominated his attention. He didn't immediately recognize the room he was in and he wondered what part of Whiterun he was in. With a grunt he was sitting up in bed. A hand lightly gripped his wrist as a voice murmured, "Leaving already, friend?"
Miir looked down at the source of the voice and saw a raven-haired Nord looking up at him with curiosity. The Khajiit nodded as he pulled his stiff body off of the mattress. He looked to his other side and saw another Nord, but this one was still asleep. Miir eased himself up and into the daylight as he picked up his scattered clothes from the floor as he sifted through the pile of clothes. Quickly dressed, he left the room as the sleeping Nord awoke and started to caress his fellow bedmate.
The pounding headache added to the grimy feeling that seemed to permeate the Khajiit's fur. While Miir wasn't a stranger to these nights of debauchery, the image of the used Nord kept popping up in his mind and he tried not to wonder if he looked like that.
It was almost noon by the time he made it back to the Bannered Mare. The innkeeper looked almost as badly off as he did and she offered him a wordless nod instead of the chastisement he knew he would have received on any other day had he come to clear out his room this late. As it was he was relieved to find all of his things were where he had left them.
Pouring himself a cupful of the water from the pitcher in the room, Miir relieved his thirst before he used the rest of the water to wash the mead and gods-knew-what-else from his fur.
For a passing moment he considered renting the room again but the notion was immediately dismissed. Miir shouldered his gear and stepped out into the bright light of day. The streets of the city were filthy with the remains of the celebration and the Khajiit watched the citizens cleaning up the mess that was left over.
A stray breeze drifted through the city and carried with it the faint smell of the farms outside. The bleary eyes of the bearded Nord seemed to haunt him and he hurried out to the city's gates. Though it pained him to admit it, Miir knew he had been in situations worse than that Nord back in the Imperial City. Half-remembered nights of pleasure with multiple partners drifted through his mind and left him remembering, sometimes fondly and sometimes not, the people he had loved.
His feet wandered with his mind, and soon Miir was on the road to the east. He had been in Whiterun long enough to know that the west was largely Imperial controlled, and his experiences growing up in the City's faded glory and in the prison only reinforced his decision to head east. This was a strange, brutal land but it was one in flux.
The instability, both with the return of the dragons and the civil war that raged, was something Miir was good at capitalizing on. He had grown up in the filthiest slums, where the gang lord who controlled them changed frequently and he had even helped that power shift sometimes.
He had stolen to taste opulence. He had stolen to find an escape from that petty, dangerous world even if it was only for a night in an upscale inn. He learned quickly that stealing could get you a little escape, but people were willing to pay so much more for you to kill. Taking someone's life almost always put a great deal of distance between you and the streets.
As these dark thoughts roiled around in Miir's mind he smiled to himself as the cold wind swirled around him. He had learned very well on the streets of the Imperial City and he would offer those skills to the Stormcloaks as a way to get back at the Imperials who had imprisoned him. There was something about the wildness of Skyrim that he wanted to protect from the laws, lists, and rules of the Imperials. It was something too big for the Imperials to imprison, and he didn't want to let it vanish. He had found a new life here and he was going to build something from it. Who knew if the headstrong Nords would even take him in, but he had to try.
His dark thoughts eased as he let his mind drift back to when he was just a dirty pickpocket who had stolen, scrimped, and saved to buy just a single night in a soft bed. There had always been one other boy he had shared that bed with. Bassilius, of the Imperials that Miir had truly loved, had been his age and they had both grown up in the dirt of the City. As they aged, their love grew with them and Miir would never forget the times they made sure the other was alright. How many times had the Khajiit gotten a loaf of bread from the Imperial? How many times had he stolen a bottle of wine for both of them to share? He couldn't even begin to count the nights they had spent together.
Bassilius had been lucky though. His skill with the blade got him noticed by a mercenary band and they took him along. When Bass left, it had been one of the few times in his life that Miir had truly cried.
Awash in some of the happiest memories from his young life, the Khajiit walked happily in the cold, bright day as he became more determined with each step to build something here in Skyrim.
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AN: And another chapter draws to a close. More reviews and comments are always appreciated!