Arankar left soon after to gather his personal belongings and Sturnbjorn used that opportunity to go chat with his guest. Walking through the makeshift front door, he found her directly to the left, sitting on the bed, her eyes drilling holes in his skull as she watched him make his way to one of two the rickety chairs he'd built with pieces of carriage.
"Can we talk now, Bron?" Spat the fiery young woman.
"Talk away." Encouraged the Nord, sitting down with a thin smile on his lips. A dragon… A magical creature born of Akatosh himself, and he, a mere mortal, was causing it to grow infuriated. It was glorious in a certain way.
"You understand what I am, yes?" Her tone was once again calm and he tried to imagine the words spoken by a giant flying lizard. They just didn't seem to fit, possibly because of the soft, almost juvenile voice.
"I pieced it together." He confirmed, "You're a dragon. An important one, if they bothered to try and humiliate you. Had you been a military leader, they would not have bothered and you would be dead, so you must be a symbol of some sort."
She said nothing for a moment, drawing in long breaths, her shoulder rising every time, as though out of breath. "This body is weak." She finally growled, looking at her own hands, "You must help me get my true form back."
"Oh, do I now? Why is that?"
Their thoughts at that moment were quite similar; both found the other's arrogance to be enraging and both had to refrain from hurting the other out of principle, and both knew the other to be easily capable of killing them.
"Volbonaar joree... I could break your mind and bend you to my will, so when I chose to ask nicely, you should obey." She hissed, once again baring her teeth again.
Sturnbjorn leaned forward, no more humor showing in his eyes, "How long would that shout take? Because I can break your jaw in half a second… And that's if I feel generous."
Briinahkrent had existed long before many of the mountains dotting Skyrim's landscape, her will directed Dragons and mortals alike, cast down empires and instated dynasties, yet this insignificant Nord, a mere footnote in the history of her glory, treated her as though he was equal, worst, superior!
On his end, Sturnbjorn's anger was much simpler, but equally strong; he had given up everything for freedom, to dictate his own destiny, if this ungrateful beast tried to take that away from him, she would join the Blades in that bonfire outside.
Finally, he reminded himself this was not some kind of pet, a stray dog he had picked up on his doorstep, she was his responsibility now and since killing her was not an option…
"I will help you…" He finally said, earning an involuntary smile, but it did not last long, "But only by teaching you how to handle yourself out there, then you are no longer my problem."
Anger, suspicion and curiosity alternated on her face in a rather comical way. He should start by teaching her how to hide her emotions, but decided to keep it for last, this way he would be able to spot any signs of deception.
"And what exactly could a peasant teach a centuries old Dovah?" Smugness on her face mirrored his own expression.
"How to hide in the shadows as well as in a crowd, how to navigate the land, how to manipulate the minds of others to your advantage, how to defend yourself…" He trailed off, pride evident in his posture.
"You are no ordinary peasant, are you?" It was no accusation, merely an observation.
Getting off the chair, he raised shook his head and accompanied every word with exaggerated arm gestures, "Normal? Ah, but there is no such thing! All have their own story, their own set of skills forged by the trials life has thrown at them. My trials took place in a den of thieves and assassins, they shaped me against my will…" He stopped, taking a seat by the dragon and gave her his most radiant smile. "First lesson, lass; We are who we choose to be."
For the ancient being before him, this 'lesson' had all the deepness of an arrow to the knee joke, but as a dragon, she could not resist a philosophical debate. "Hadrim, Sil, Smoliin ahrk Slen. Soul, mind, passions and flesh are but one and the same, trying to deny your nature will only make you miserable."
"Hmm, true, but let's say a thief wants to become a farmer, does that not reveal a part of his nature he did not know about? Remaining set in his way would also be denying his nature, would it not?"
Her laugh would have fitted a student of the bards' college, but not a nation conquering overlord. "All joree are slaves to their impulses, if he became a thief in the first place, then that is his true nature and everything else is merely wishful thinking."
Sturnbjorn nodded and thought about it in silence, his brows furrowed and lips compacted in a thin line. Briinahkrent was startled to realize she found his scruffy orange face and soft eyes aesthetically pleasing and would have used that as an example of the body influencing the soul, were she not so embarrassed by it.
"What if circumstances forced him to become what he is, not personal choice?"
The dragon was glad to have something else to occupy her mind and answered without thinking about it much, "Then it is his own fault for going along with it and he should free himself from the shackles of providence…"
"Then we agree!"
She started at the outburst and his beaming smile, "We… What?"
"We are who we chose to be. If circumstances have driven you to make bad decisions, only you can change who you are… Now give me your hand!" He exclaimed, standing in front of her with his honest, innocent smile, a hand outstretched.
She took it with her good arm and he yanked her closer, earning a startled yelp. "What are you…"
"Stand upright, as straight as you can." He called, holding her hand in his while the other, wraped under her shoulder, kept the dragon from crumbling to the floor.
"How… How should I place my feet?" Already annoyed, she seemed ready to just give up.
"Patience is not your forte, is it? Keep them flat and push in whichever direction you are about to fall…" It worked and, he soon did not have to hold her whole weight, but never let her hand go, taking a step backward. "Good! Now push your other feet forward… No, don't lift it, you don't have the balance yet…"
She took a wobbly step forward and almost fell to the floor, but with a rough pull, the Nord pulled her back in an awkward hug. "This is hopeless, Dovs are not meant to walk…"
"You're not a dove, so shut up and keep trying…" She did and this time, he did not have to catch her. "What is your name again?"
Too focused to be angry at his nonchalance, she muttered behind clenched teeth, "Briinahkrent."
"Right," The Nord repeated the name a few times, "from now on, we will call you Bri. If anyone asks, it's short for Brianna."
That, however, shocked her, "I am not going to change my name because you can't remember it! It is part of my identity!" He ignored her.
They took another step, but Stubborn bumped in his new makeshift table and kicked the thing away, sending it crashing in four distinct pieces across the room.
"You built this?" Asked 'Bri', worry obvious in her eyes.
"Yeah." Another wobbly step.
"What about the house?"
"That too." That did nothing to ease the dragon's mind. She tried to free herself from Sturnbjorn's hand, but he refused to let go. Even when they reached the freshly repaired wall, he only taught her how to spin around and resumed pulling her forward one step at a time until a searing pain shot through her meager leg, sending the confused dragon in a panic.
"What is this!?" She yelled, clutching the injured thigh. The Nord only smiled.
"It's a cramp…" Scooping her off the floor and back on the bed, he explained the nature of her pain, merely a muscle protesting against their intense workout. She would stop getting them after a while.
"Being human is horrible!" Hissed Bri, hot tears now filling her eyes as Sturnbjorn delicately folded and extended the dragon's skeletal limb, she wiped her eyes and let out a frustrated growl, "And what are these?!"
She did not get an answer this time, but whatever he did seemed to work as the pain left as quickly as it had come.
"Keep working on your balance," Instructed Sturnbjorn once she stopped contorting in pain, opening the front door, "Once you can walk, we will buy you a horse and some clothes in Whiterun."
And he left her alone with Aleu, the dog's wide blue eyes never leaving her, as if to make sure she did as instructed.
She did, falling multiple times, pain washing over her broken arm and ribs every time, but the dog's glare and the thought of disappointing that arrogant mortal kept her from giving up altogether. No, not disappointing… She was a child of Akatosh, the opinion of mere mortals couldn't have mattered less to her, she merely did not want to give the Nord the satisfaction of being disappointed in her… Or something like that…
He worked the fields all day, never stopping except for waterbreaks and completely ignoring Arankar when the Thalmor set up his tent within arm's reach of the farmhouse. The Altmer tried to enter said house, but was swiftly denied by Aleu's feral growl. He considered asking the mysterious woman to come out, but decided against it and settled on watching his host at work.
Reports on Sturnbjorn Wolf-Heart were sketchy and contradictory, and none of them had more than three days. According to rumours, the boy did not sleep and did nothing but work, which appeared to be partly true.
This was not a farmer's attitude, however, not the way someone used to long lasting work would go about it.
This Nord had been taught an iron discipline and sense of personal initiative to rival a Dark Brotherhood assassin's, though the brutality and viciousness of his fighting style dismissed the possibility of him being with the Brotherhood or Morag Tong.
Perhaps the rumours, about him being merely an abandoned child from Riften with nothing but raw willpower, were closer to the truth.
Annoyed at the lack of satisfying responses, Arankar retreated inside his tent to seek answers in books.
Only by sunset did Sturnbjorn realize he had gone two days without sleep, and his body was on the brink of breaking down, every muscle aching, every nerve swollen and pulsing. Even his eyes felt dry and raw!
He joined Bri and Aleu in the house and ignored both completely to collapse on his haystack.
No sooner had he closed his eyes that he found himself in a familiar cave, with the same bird and waterfall, only now he stood on a narrow bridge, overlooking a cauldron the size of his house. Something at the bottom glowed slightly, casting opal ribbons on the granite walls of the circular chamber.
The woman appeared, her dark but elaborate dress only increasing the exotic beauty she radiated. Sturnbjorn did not try to take a closer look this time, he merely took a deep breath and let everything he could see sink in.
"So, which one is it?" He spoke, deciding to sit down and let his legs, draped in a light catching fabric, dangle off the bridge.
"Clarify." Commanded the dark figure, displaying no emotion.
"Is it the farm that's cursed or me? For that matter, by whom is it cursed?" He spoke as though this was a casual discussion about the weather.
This seemed to amuse the other, as her next sentence was filled with snide humour, "Now why would anyone curse you, of all people? Is there something you would like to tell me?"
Shaking his head in defeat, Sturnbjorn pushed himself off the bridge, just a meter away from the opalescent water. A cape flapped at his back, thick and of a deep black tint.
Despite its appearance, the water was not calm. No sooner had he touched it that he was wrestled down by a maelstrom of glowing ribbons. His cape swirled around as well, as though swallowing the swirls of light, wrapping itself around the Nord to protect him.
At last, he was brutally ejected from the water and instinct took over as he twisted like a cat, landing on a knee, square in the middle of… A castle?
There was blood everywhere, banquet tables, on which rested mutilated corpses, surrounded him. People dressed in leather, all pale as death, feasted on the warm corpses. Above, standing on an ornate balcony, was a man who's awful burning eyes drilled deep inside Wolf-Heart's soul, relaying one promise; the darkness which had always been Sturnbjorn's friend would soon reign.
And the dreadful lord raised his hand, banishing Sturnbjorn to another realm of dream.
Ashes, lava and smoke filled his vision, the harsh wind blowing hard against him, but his skin protected by the darkness. Shielding his eyes with one hand, he took off, literally, his cape having turned to wings, and swooped over the torn landscape. This was his farm. How he could know that went beyond his comprehension, but he did. Something had burnt it to the ground, burnt all of Whiterun hold, all of Tamriel.
That something came out of the sun, talons bared and diving like a hawk. Sturnbjorn saw its shadow and turned around in midflight, but too late. The dragon tore off his wings and smashed him into the dust, its mouth so close to his face he could feel the beast's warm breath.
Fin briinah krent. The Broken Sister.
The dragon morphed into Bri, sitting on his chest her amused face closing in with his playfully. She landed a kiss on his cheek and, sitting upright, tucked a rebellious strand of metallic hairs behind her ear. "Beautiful, is it not?"
"Why?" He spat, wrestling against her, to no avail.
"Why deny your true nature?" Simply replied the dragon, amused, "I am a destroyer, this is what I was created to do. Yet you, you resist your true self… Why?"
Shoving and kicking the frail woman, without success, he answered, in between desperate escape attempts, "I am who I chose to be."
"You are weak, all of your accomplishments , you owe to Her, to luck. But you are nothing special, and you refuse to embrace…"
She went quiet and looked up, the most complete confusion and dismay painted on her face.
An egg landed square on her face, followed by another and soon it was raining chicken eggs, every centimeters of ashes covered with gooey substances, especially the silver haired woman, having suddenly grown two more arms with which she sheltered her face.
The spider. Again.
"I have phobias I didn't even know about." Mused the boy, getting up despite the egg shower. The things seemed to avoid him entirely and, though it soon formed a small lake, none of it stained his clothes.
Looking back at the brightly colored man who'd hatched from one of many eggs, Sturnbjorn couldn't help but ask, "Why?"
To which the other, twirling his laughing cane, was glad to reply, "Can't have an omelette otherwise… Mind if I have a hit of that?" He nodded to the Skaag tribal axe Sturnbjorn held. The thing doubled as a pipe, its hollow counter-weight linked to the bottom of the handle.
"Certainly!" He gave it to the old man, never questioning where it had come from.
Both men soon found themselves surrounded by the flow of broken eggs, but something kept the tides away and Stubborn's companion showed no sign of worry as he took a long drag on the pipe.
He coughed twice and dispelled the purple smoke leaking from his ears. "By the twelve, you lads sure know how to grow strong Red Grass!"
Sturnbjorn tried it, but being an adept of Red Grass since his early teens, found nothing odd about the smoke he inhaled.
Exhaling, however, was a different story and he watched the soap bubbles leave his mouth with mild puzzlement.
"You're taking this whole situation rather well…" Complimented his friend, trying another puff of Red Grass.
"It's obviously a dream."
"I mean… Agh, this really makes you fly, doesn't it? What was I saying? Right! I meant the dragon, Thalmor stalker and the dog that gets all wolves in the hold ready for war in a single howl…"
Puffing on his pipe for a moment, as though enough Red Grass would clear up the confusion, Wolf-Heart tried to understand why it all seemed so natural to him.
"I think…" He passed the pipe, "I think I just don't care. I don't judge people, everyone has an excuse, everyone is saving the world, all I want is to be left alone. It doesn't matter how noble your cause is, just stay away from me and everyone will be happy."
"Ah, it is seclusion you want! Like some barbarian going off in the wood to ramble freely about when he was governor!"
"Something like that… I'm not sleeping, am I? This is real." Questioned the Nord, suddenly realizing this all made too much sense to be one of his dreams.
"It all depends on what your definition of real is. Will you remember everything in the morning? Nope. Are you actually conversing with the Daedric god of madness? Yes!" The man seemed overjoyed by that fact, "But that's nothing new, whenever there's madness and confusion, you might as well be drinking tea with the chaps!"
They were now in a swirling bubble of white and yellow, slowly filling up with purple smoke. "But enough lollygagging… What does that even mean? Lollygagging. Sounds kinky, doesn't it?"
Stubborn just stared.
"Yes! Now, for the second chance! You say we choose who we want to be and I totally agree, so here I will give you a choice, the same that ruined your promising life, seven years ago…"
He threw him the axe and, with a dismissive motion, changed the scenery to Sturnbjorn's house. Aleu and Bri were asleep on the bed, though, after close examination, he realized it was not Bri, asleep on the bed with his dog, but Valentia, his only childhood friend, the one he had been ordered to murder.
Back then, the order had been so unexpected, so surreal he had believed it to be a joke at first, and then outright refused to do it. His parents returned to Solstheim the next day, leaving him alone in Riften, without any friend as Val was soon 'adopted' by a Thane with specific tastes.
"Kill her." Said the old man, "Correct your mistakes and take back your life… Or don't, I find your current life's wonkiness to be terribly entertaining."
He looked at his new friend, but saw that he was alone in the house. Nobody would see, nobody would know.
"But that's a debate I already settled." He spat, imbedding the tribal axe in the patched wall with a single throw. "I regret nothing." And he went back to bed.