" … sure, but I need to bring these supplies up to the Graybeards first," the man sighed. "All the way up, taking the seven thousands steps up to that damned mountain just to bring a bunch of old men their food and drinks."

"Maybe I can help you," Ruthalia joined in with a smile, interrupting the conversation she had overheard of the two men.

The one talking was of middle-age, but, his face showed that he had been through many hard times and plenty of rough weather. Wrinkles were spreading their way across his face; over his red warpaint and the scars he wore. The sight reassured Ruthalia's suspicious.

He must have been a warrior once, or at least a hunter.

He was wearing brown, light armor and a simple steel ax hung off his belt. His arms were strong and muscular. He had them crossed before his deep chest.

The other was a man of younger age and, from the looks of it he was the complete opposite of his friend; slender and with long arms hanging down like skinny tree branches. He had a short, crooked nose sitting in the middle of a boney face.

On quiet feet, and with a nod towards the bulky man he had been conversing with, he went off.

"And how is that?" the built man then asked Ruthalia.

"I need to see the Graybeards myself, so I might as well take the supplies you need to deliver with me," she said, smiling sweetly. The man slowly seemed to warm up a little and returned the smile with a little one himself.

"Sure thing. It's a long way and, even though I might not look out of shape, it is getting rather hard on my knees these days. Be sure to return to me after you've delivered the supplies, and I will be sure to reward you for your efforts."

Ruthalia nodded once and took the supplies the man gave her, putting it safely in her horse's carry bags. She felt good being able to help where she could. Her master had always taught her to show kindness and concern for others, and if nothing else, you always catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. And somewhere deep inside herself, perhaps, Ruthalia knew that she did it to warm the cold inside her soul.

It was evening already and the setting sun painted the sky a deep orange. It had cooled down and a cold breeze was brushing over Ruthalia's tanned skin. Her werewolf blood kept her warm. The transformation was a gift she had acquired in Whiterun through the Companions; a blessing Kodlak had tried to get rid of almost his whole life. It allowed her to ignore the wind's chill bite.

With a strong pull of her arms she was back on her mount and gently pressed her thighs against the mare's body to get it to walk.

The first bits of the way were easy. Their path went steadily upwards and Ruthalia's strong mount kept a steady pace.

Its strong back reminded Ruthalia of a werewolf. She watched its muscles ripple and contract, remembering her first contact with the Companions. It was just before she had entered Whiterun and had encountered a huge giant attacking a little hunters had slain it before she could even get there to help them. She was impressed and had asked where and how she could join their circle of obviously strong and agile warriors. The leading woman, Aela, had told her to go to Jorrvaskr and talk with Kodlak about it.

She had done so almost immediately. She was unfamiliar with this land, its people and the critters inhabiting it; so making friends or at least finding companions was her first privilege.

Everyone in the group had lots of doubts and suspicions towards her at first, but after several missions together - or hunts, as they called them - she had proven herself worthy of being included in their most precious and dangerous secret. Lycanthropy. It had turned out to be a useful gift, the Companions to be reliable allies and Jorrvaskr to be a warm and welcoming home. The oldest members had grown to like her as well and respected her many skills, not to mention her appreciation for their methods and beliefs.

As she rode along the windy road, she caught herself wishing they were here with her, even though she would never admit so, not even to herself.

The way became more difficult when the first stairs appeared and the horse slowed, trying to climb each step carefully in order not to slip and injure itself and its fellow.

It was obvious the steps were old and worn out from the harsh weather. The temperatures soon dropped further and the first snowflakes were soon dancing through the steadily darker growing sky. Little clouds appeared in front of Ruthalia's face each time she breathed out. Her mount made a sound to express its discomfort.

She stroked the horse reassuringly on the flank. "No worries, girl. Only a few thousand steps more."

Night had long caught up with them, when they were still struggling up the gigantic mountain. Ruthalia had already dismounted to support her feral companion with less weight on its back. She led the horse up, step by step, a tight grip on the bridle, her fingers beginning to freeze and cling to the leather.

The benefits of the werewolf blood had worn off, not able to keep out such extreme iciness. Ruthalia shivered, her lips turning blue, her teeth clacking against each other, as snowflakes clung to her armor, hair and eyebrows. Her throat was dry and every breath she took hurt in her nostrils and lungs. The steadily growing strength of the wind just added to their misery.

Ever since they'd reached the higher, colder area, they had not seen another living being. Further down the path they had stumbled across a few hunters here and there, praying at the many stones that were placed all the way up the seven thousand steps. Now they were all by themselves. A woman and her horse against the forces of nature.

Just as Ruthalia was beginning to think this would probably be the end of her and her steed, every breath more painful than the previous one, she saw hardly discernible light in the distance.

Feeling bits of hope arise in her heart, she lifted her head to look more closely. Indeed, there was light emanating from big, burning torches that lit only part of the huge building a few yards away from them.

It was massive, almost like a castle made out of huge, gray stones. A few more stairs were leading up to the main doors, each of them easily big enough for several men to go through all at once. The stairs were splitting for a colossal tower, standing like a silent guardian in the middle. In front of it, once Ruthalia and her steed had made the last few steps up to the building, she saw a magnificent, iron chest. Before it lay a few potions, snowberries and other herbs, some rings and coins.

Confident that this must be the place for supplies, she rummaged in her horse's carry bags, taking some time to find it and get it out. Her fingers were still stiff from the cold, but she found the items eventually and put the supplies in the large chest. She hesitated then, crouching in front of it.

Was it really worth it? Was it necessary? She could just turn around and forget about it all, right? Surely, there must have been a mistake in the first place. She could never be something as important as a Dragonborn. She was just a young woman, barely used to this new place she had been thrown into.

As if to prove her wrong, however, uninvited memories of the dragon fight in Whiterun flashed before her eyes.

"There it is! I can see it! It's coming!" the guard had shouted, standing on top of what was left of the watchtower.

Ruthalia had lifted her head, narrowing her eyes against the bright sun that was shining down from a barely clouded sky, before a huge, black shadow had covered it.

The guards around here were shouting, barking commands at each other. Before anybody was ready, however, it swooped down upon them, a wave of staggering air following its approach. The commands were forgotten, all tactics thrown aside and panic erupted like the fire from the dragon's mouth.

Several guards were running away, screaming in agony as they have been set on fire. Others were trying to shoot it with arrows, which only ended up shattered against its thick scales. Courageous – or foolish, Ruthalia could not decide which – soldiers were assaulting it with swords and axes, daggers and maces.

All but too slow. Before they could even get close to it, it had already soared into the cloudy sky, spitting fire onto them, destroying them along with their failed attack. Ruthalia had readied her bow and took aim.

She stood upon one of the massive watchtower outcroppings that the dragon had destroyed in one of its previous approaches. She could see the massacre beneath her. Some guards were waiting for it to land again, hovering behind piles of rubble. More and more however, tried to shoot it out of the sky with more arrows.

The commander, a dark elf that had led them out here on the order of the Jarl, was advising to set the arrows on fire.

Ruthalia thought it was a good idea but worthless against a creature like this. She took deep, slow breathes; her arm holding the bow steady and calm. She had one eye closed, the other following the movement of the swift cbeast; the tip of her arrow doing the same.

Just as it turned around and was getting ready to land once again, she recognized the moment she had been waiting for.

Quick, without thinking, she let go of the readied arrow. It shot across the battleground, swallowing the distance between Ruthalia and her aim in seconds. With perfect precision it dug its way into its target. The dragon's eye.

With a roar so convulsing it caused some of the tower's stones to loosen and fall to the ground, it lifted its massive head and spit a stream of pure, searing fire into the air.

It stomped wildly, its thick, heavy feet smashing dozens of guards underneath; its long, sleek tail, destroying more of the tower's ruins. The guards that were still alive and had been cowering behind some rubble, where now taking this chance and ran up to the beast with raised swords. The commander was back to barking commands, now that the monster had hit the ground and was wounded and distracted. Ruthalia too, did not hesitate and readied another arrow.

The dragon's vulnerable chest, which was the only part of it not covered with scales, was now exposed to her. Quickly she let go again, shooting the next arrow into the creature's flesh.

It howled anew, its rage increasing. It thrashed around more and more wildly, wiping guards aside as if they were toy soldiers, spitting more hungry flames onto the destroyed land.

But as it spotted Ruthalia on top of the ruins, its pupil narrowed, a spark of recognition flashing in its big eye. She was the last thing the king of the skies would see, however. Complete darkness surrounded the creature as Ruthalia's next arrow bit its way into the dragon's heart.

That too, was when Ruthalia's pupils narrowed in return as she devoured the creature's soul, taking it into her own. She saw flashes of its life passing before her eyes as if it had been her own. Memories of knowledge, the feeling of pride over being the most majestic and wild creature in all of Tamriel. She was it, and it was she. Dragon and human combined.

Dovahkiin.

She looked up at the huge building before her and took a deep breath. She got up and took the steps up to the mighty iron door. Her heart felt heavy but the memory made her do the inevitable at last. Closing her eyes for a second or two, she opened the door and stepped in.