So...how's the weather fan fiction wanderers? I apologize for the delay but a lot of things have been going on and I just haven't had the time to sit down and write. I cannot guarantee how consistently updated this story will be, so bear with me if some chapters come out faster or slower than others. I'll try to release this and the next chapter in quick succession, but I make no promises.
Read on viewers, read on.
All at once, the friends split from one another. The twins retreat behind a rock, bows drawn. The dragon's cry rings out again as Grim appears next to Spirit, pressing his back against the rock with hands centered in a cloud of frost.
Grim speaks out of flustered irritation, "I blame you for this…"
Spirit looks at him, she is used to his random, unserious blame. But in terms of moments for such things, it wasn't the best. "You should really be blaming whatever made them come back."
"How do we know it was a person? Can one man or woman really bring these beasts return from years of death?' Aura questions, ducking as a blast of fire blazes just above their heads.
"Guys! Less theorizing and more dragon slaying!" Zed calls from behind the cover just beyond them. As the others agree with the statement, the dragon lands in the grass field, sending a staggering wind forth before arching its head back and blasting out an inferno of orange-red flame. From the plains grasses, Caliber barely dodges the dragon's landing. He swings his sword in defense, halting the beast's breath as it staggers from the blow.
"Yeah! Take that you overgrown lizard!" Caliber shouts with a satisfied grin. The dragon shakes its head, focusing its attention on the Nord before flying up and toward him with a scream. Caliber's smile quickly falls, "Oh Gods, I didn't mean it!"
"Caliber! Get out of there!" Owlet shouts, launching spikes of ice at the flying dragon.
"Yeah, no problem!" Caliber quickly pulls up his blade, running off behind cover just as the dragon snatches up an unfortunate Whiterun guard, throwing him like a rag doll into the sky.
"We need to get it out of the air!" Aura yells over the commotion, aiming and shooting arrows at their foe. Distantly, as if carried by the wind, a booming voice resides over the battleground.
"I am Mirmulnir! Come, fight me, mortals!"
"Did you hear that?" Spirit asks, her friends nod in response.
"I didn't know they could talk, just makes them more irritating," Grim says, throwing off waves of fireballs. One sphere spreads on the dragon's wing, sieging it but seeming to do no other damage to its flight. With a groan, Grim changes his tactic, doing the same as Owlet by throwing spikes of ice.
"Where in Oblivion did Zed go?" Aura asks quickly, looking around for their quiet friend who seemed to vanish from where he was. The dragon Mirmulnir circles around, landing on top of the tower. From where she was, Aura could see Zed at the top, very close to the beast's mouth.
"Oh Gods he's gonna get himself eaten," Grim says, staring up at Zed.
"Zed get away from it!" Aura yells frantically, pulling an arrow back.
Zed rolls away as Mirmulnir attempts to bite him, jumping on the dragon's wing and stabbing his sword straight through the bone. With a scream the beast knocks Zed away, causing him to land roughly on the ground from the tower's peak. Mirmulnir attempts to fly, but fails, ungracefully falling to the earth, uprooting dead trees as it skids against the ground.
Mirmulnir lifts himself up, growling up at Zed, who looks down at him, waving pleasantly, "Sorry about that, the blade just slips sometimes!" He shouts, smirking.
"You are nothing, mortal," Mirmulnir shoots fire up at Zed, who quickly rolls onto the ground, pressing himself against to stone, feeling the intense heat of the flames inches above him.
Owlet watches from the side, her eyes narrowing, studying the rough, armor-like scales of the creature, she turns to Caliber, shouting, "Get on his head!"
Caliber looks at her with flustered surprised, "Get on what now?"
"His head is his weak point, slice at his eyes, anything that isn't scaly!" She points toward Mirmulnir frantically, "Come on! Trust me!"
"Ok! Ok!" Caliber rushes past her, jumping and clinging to the dragon's neck, shimming to his head as Mirmulnir suddenly notices his presence. Despite all the thrashing he can muster, Caliber slashes at the beast's eyes. As the struggle weakens, he takes his sword in both hands, stabbing it through the dragon's skull.
The last words of the dragon were buried beneath the sound of weapons and fire, but still seemed to ring clear in the ears of the six souls, "Dovahkiin, no!"
Caliber staggers as Mirmulnir collapses, jumping off just as he does, leaving his sword embedded in the skull of the beast. The others went to their friend, smiling in amazement.
"I can't believe you actually did that!" Owlet marvels but slowly frowns, "What do you think that dragon meant?"
Grim looks over at the corpse, his eyes shifting to confusion, "Ah...guys…"
The friends turn to the dead creature, watching the thing as it begins to burn in a surreal light, the fire dismantling the skin of Mirmulnir to the bone. The flames crackle and hiss, morphing into streams of blue and orange phosphorescence. Caliber steps forward, feeling a sudden feeling propelling him toward the light. The streams surge toward him with terrible force. Caliber staggers back, but stands his ground, his arm shielding his face as if the simple force may harm him. His friends feel power peak off the whirlwind, a push, strength from the light.
When it is finished, the dragon sits as only a skeleton, its dark sightless eyes staring endlessly into the distance.
"I can't believe it," A voice spoke from behind them. They turn, the remaining guards watching Caliber with widened eyes, "You're...Dragonborn."
"I'm…really?" Caliber looks at himself, as if he could spot the light that had already gone.
"You absorbed that dragon's soul; that had to be what just happened. Only the Dragonborn can do that…" Another guard says, astonished. Caliber tries to speak, but can't find the words. The guard pauses, looking between the skeleton of the dragon and the Nord before speaking again, "There's only one way to prove it. Try to Shout."
"I...uh…" the warrior turns to his friends, who all look back at him with no response.
Aura decides to speak first over the arguing guards on the subject, "You read that word on the wall in Bleak Falls Barrow, didn't you?" she looks at Zed, who leans on dead dragon's bones to keep himself upright, "You said it was dragon language."
Zed nods, looking at Caliber, "I don't really know how it works. When you steal a dragon's power, you somehow use it to Shout."
"I could try, I guess." Caliber says with a bit of resolution, staring up at the sky, "I've got to remember what the word is though…"
"You seriously can't remember a word in dragon language?" Grim mutters a little too loudly, "by the Gods…"
"Hey! Give me a break, I just kind of, sort of, maybe ate a dragon soul!"
"Well then it's not hunger that's making you forget."
"That's not what I mean!"
"Well what do you mean then?"
"I...don't...really know."
"Then you shouldn't be having a problem!"
"Seriously guys?" Owlet cuts in, her voice authoritative like a parent scolding children, "This is not the time to be arguing."
Grim turns to her, "I'm just saying he should remember- "
"Fus!" Caliber shouts from where he stands, a rapid wind being created by the single word. The gale staggers Grim, who keeps his balance despite his surprise.
"Ha! I remembered!" Caliber grins proudly, then frowns when he looks at the others, "What- oh…"
"That was it! That was a Shout! So you really are Dragonborn…" the guard turns to Irileth, who had remained relatively quiet, "Come on Irileth, tell us. Do you believe in this Dragonborn business?"
Irileth responds with a short grunt of skepticism, "Some of you would be better off keeping quiet then flapping your gums on matters you don't know anything about."
"Here's a dead dragon, and that's something I can definitely understand. Now we know we can kill them. But I don't need some mythical Dragonborn." She looks at Caliber with a small smirk of approval, "Someone who can put down a dragon is more than enough for me."
"You wouldn't understand, Housecarl. You're not a Nord."
"I've been all across Tamriel. I've seen plenty of things just as outlandish as this. I'd advise you all trust in the strength of your sword arm over tales and legends."
"We better get back to the Jarl…" Owlet speaks after a silence, "he'll want to know what happened."
"Y-yeah…" Caliber stumbles a bit with a quiet in his voice Spirit didn't often hear. He moves past the group of guards, yanking his sword out of the dead dragon's skull with a swift tug. Balancing it on his shoulder, he walks ahead with a distraught haste.
"I think he's a little freaked out, guys." Grim says after watching him for a moment.
"Really, I didn't notice." Zed comments sarcastically, wincing when he shifts his weight to try to stand on his own, "Someone should go talk to him."
"And someone should heal you before you make it worse." Owlet moves toward him, placing a hand on his shoulder, the soft glow of a restoration spell leaving her fingers.
"I'll go talk to him…" Aura turns, jogging off to catch up with her friend.
Caliber continues to walk quickly, watching the ground pass beneath him as he does. Aura comes to his side, having to take long strides to keep up with him. It was times like these when she remembered how short she was compared to him. He seems to notice her struggling to keep up, rather reluctantly slowing down. The wood elf gratefully slows as well, though rather surprised that he didn't ignore her, "You're more willing to talk about it then I thought."
"I wouldn't have been able to stop you anyway." Caliber responds with a shrug, slipping his sword into the sheath on his back.
"You know me well."
"I ought to after so long."
"Then you'll know what I'm going to say."
With a sigh, Caliber nods, cracking his knuckles with a nervous efficiency, "That I shouldn't be upset? This is different."
"So you maybe kind of, sort of, might have absorbed a dragon soul. So?"
"Really, Aura?" he laughs quietly, "Really?"
"I'm serious!" she grips her friend's arm, stopping him, "just because you might be some mythical dragon slayer of lore doesn't mean I'll see you any different."
"That's not why I'm freaked out. You're not a Nord, you don't know the stories. Dragonborns are supposed to be the great warriors with a bunch of bravery and stuff."
"Like the kind you need to stab a real dragon in the skull? You have boundless bravery if you ask me. I could never do that."
"Well...yeah, but you don't know how to use swords. And it wasn't too hard to climb onto his back- "he stops, glancing at Aura's expression, "That doesn't prove anything! I can't be Dragonborn! I'm not a good enough fighter!"
"I refer back to the dead dragon skeleton! If you weren't a great warrior, you'd be dead."
"Yeah, sure…"
"Why is that so hard for you to accept?"
"I…I don't know!"
"That's not a very good reason."
"…I know…"
"Besides, it could be a lot worse. I mean, what's so bad about having amazing dragon powers?"
Caliber pauses for a moment, as if mulling the comment over in his head. He smiles slightly, "I guess they're pretty amazing."
"You'll figure something out. You're determined, I know you are. Plus you always have us to back you up." Aura smiles confidently, "Who knows, maybe it is just a myth."
Suddenly a great thunder rolls in the sky, threatening to split it in two. A shout, as if from many voice, echoes in the sky, "Dovahkiin!"
Another roll of thunder sounds, but more softly, fading off into the distance. Aura and Caliber exchange looks after regaining their composure, the later laughing nervously, "That was weird…"
"Did you guys hear that?"
The two turn to their friends, who managed to catch up to them now that they stopped. Spirit was the one who spoke, looking up at the sky then at her sister. Aura meets her gaze, then retracts it, "We need to get to the Jarl."
~ Our hero, our hero claims a warrior's heart…I tell you I tell you the Dragonborn comes… ~
"So what happened at the watchtower? Was the dragon there?"
Aura glances at Caliber after the Jarl's question, deciding to answer for him, "The dragon destroyed the tower, but we managed to kill it. "
The Jarl smiles, "I knew I could count on Irileth!" he pauses, frowning again, "but there must be more to it than that…"
"Turns out I might be Dragonborn." Caliber says quickly with a surprising amount of nonchalant attitude.
"Dragonborn? What do you know of the Dragonborn?"
"When the dragon died I uh…absorbed some kind of power from it."
The Jarl sits back in his throne, a subdued awe coming over him, "So it's true. The Greybeards really were summoning you."
"The Greybeards?" Aura's brow furrows, obviously unfamiliar with the name that apparently carried some significance judging by the tone of the Jarl, "Who are they?"
"They're monks that live in seclusion on the Throat of the World," Zed informs from behind them, "They're supposed to be trained in that Shouting you were doing."
"So…if you're a Dragonborn…they should be able to tell you how to control Caliber's gift, right?"
"Right," Bulgruuf nods, turning to Caliber, "You should get moving. There's no refusing the Greybeards. But you've done a great service for Whiterun and her people, Dragonborn. By my right as Jarl, I hereby name you Thane of Whiterun. It's the greatest gift that's within my power to grant."
Caliber shifts a little, uncomfortable with the attention, "I don't want to sound ungrateful Jarl, but I wouldn't make a very good Thane. Besides, Owlet's the one that told me how to kill the dragon." He gestures to Owlet, who seemed to not be quite as interested until she heard her name, "She deserves the title more than me."
The Jarl looks at Owlet, then to Caliber, "Very well. At the very least accept this." He takes the steel battle-axe from his back, a soft purple glow surrounding it, "It will serve as a badge to let the guards know who you are."
"Thanks!" Caliber takes the axe gratefully, going down the steps as the Bulgruuf starts up an argument between himself and Proventus.
"What exactly is my title again? You didn't give me much information when you just decided to give me that." Owlet says, crossing her arms. A woman in armor approaches her, bowing shortly.
"Honor to you, my Thane. I am Lydia, your Housecarl."
"Housecarl? You mean you'll serve me and stuff?"
"I am your sword and your shield. I will protect you and all you own with vigilance."
"Oh uh…thanks, but you can stay. I'll have you come if I need you."
Lydia nods, walking off and leaning against the wall. Grim watches her go, "I wouldn't mind having her along, actually."
"You just want her to carry all your stuff," Owlet says shortly with a knowing smile.
"And what is wrong with that? I am way too delicate to be carrying so much stuff!" Grim defends, gesturing to himself like his statement was an obvious truth. Owlet was aware of Grim's sarcastic quips, but sometimes she truly thought he believed in what he was saying.
"So does anyone know how to get up to the monastery?" Spirit questions, looking out at the great mountain in the distance as they exit Dragonsreach.
"I think the steps are outside Ivarstead," Caliber says as he walks down to the market circle, "at least from what I remember. I haven't been in Skyrim since I was little."
"I could certainly do without the cold."
"You get used to it."
"Oh please, Nords are born with a natural resistance to cold. You could be standing in a blizzard and think it was nothing but a chilly breeze."
"Why thank you!"
Spirit rolls her eyes, punching him lightly in the arm and walking toward the inn. The blast of warmth from the place was far more comforting then the fiery breath of the dragon. Though the tender comfort of the fireplace didn't reach the still hallow confusion in her mind. She sits, watching the flames dance and crackle. The voice of the dragon Mirmulnir stirred her on the battlefield. She had no idea dragons actually existed, let alone that they could speak. The others seemed to have also heard the voice, so she was graced with the knowledge that she wasn't losing her head. However, she wondered if they heard it the same way.
"Hey, Grim?"
Grim sits beside her on the bench, munching on a piece of bread, responding to her call with a dragged out greeting, "Hi."
"You heard Mirmulnir speak, right? I'm not crazy?"
"I heard him speak, but you're definitely crazy."
"Shut up!" she still smiles though her command, "I'm being serious."
"So am I."
"You- okay, you're doing this on purpose."
Grim laughs, setting his half-eaten bread down, "You should really stop responding to me."
"Yes, you're hilarious. Can you tell me what he said?" Spirit says quickly before she gets off topic, as she often did when talking to Grim. He seemed to revel in conversation that made no sense and the confusion of the uninitiated.
Seeming to sense that she was serious, Grim shifts his tone, "I think he said his name, then started shouting fire…"
"You mean blasting it?"
"No, I mean shouting it. He would always say the same three words before he breathed fire."
"…Are you serious? I didn't hear that…"
"What do you mean you didn't hear it? He was loud! I guess it was kind of hard to understand though. He would say Yol Toor Shuul."
Spirit considers this, looking at the fire, then back at her friend, "I didn't hear that."
"Maybe you're the one that's crazy, Grim." Owlet says jokingly from across the fire.
"That wouldn't surprise me…" the bard from before mutters, his name being discovered as Mikael from some casual observation.
"Say that again, I dare you." Grim says with a glare, a thin layer of smoke rising from his fingers, causing Mikael to immediately retreat to the other side of the inn. Grim looks back at Spirit.
"I'm not crazy either."
"That's an arguable statement."
"Shut up! I'm being serious."
"So am I."
"You- oh." He stops, realizing what's happening, "I see what you did there."
"I'm glad you do. We can be crazy together." Spirit resolves after laughing.
"I can deal with that."
"I've dealt with it since we were little."
"Then you have a lot of experience." Grim stands, picking up the bread he had set down, "You can survive a little longer."
"I'll accept that challenge!" Spirit calls as he leaves, smiling to herself. There was a lot of worth in a good friend, especially one that made just as much sense as the world you lived in. Some levity was needed to soften the events of the evening, so the jokes were appreciated. The wood elf stands, retreating to her room with a smile on her face and a little more warmth in her heart.
