III. WINDHELM
Dovahkiin & Alduin
Divines take her and cast her down, her face hurt.
The Dragonborn found herself in front of a mirror, eyes gold and glittering with a certain bitter contempt as she stared at the dark circle beneath her eye. It was going yellow at this point, the days since the blow having long since come and gone, and now the shape of her nose was crooked from the punch that had struck her down like a dog to it's master. Somewhere inside of her she would have joked that Galmar Stone-Fist had suit his name but there wasn't really anything funny about the situation, especially considering that her nose was now crooked. Well, unless of course you wanted to say that the taking of Windhelm was the punchline but there was still a bitterness to the whole thing.
Irregardless the woman of fair snow-shaded hair glowered at herself in front of the mirror and found herself disappointed that she had been taken off guard like that. Maybe she deserved this for being careless. Maybe this once lovely and now misshapen nose of hers was her due for taking a whole city. There was a light shudder at the thought then; she wanted cities, of course, but if she were to lose anymore limbs or get some bent then she'd have to get smarter about this whole conquest situation. She thought about that voice though, thought about what it would have told her as if it were there with her.
"You got what you put out there, little cub," is what her father would have said. "be good and life will be good to you too."
But where was all that goodness when she was hungry and her father wasn't there? Where was it when nobody had known his name and he had begged for even the most minuscule of jobs? And where was that goodness when he never came home that day, or the next? You couldn't live off of nothing and you certainly couldn't eat the feeling of doing right. The Dragonborn felt her stomach tighten up like knots in silk scarves, the thought of that day haunting her. Hard choices lead to a hard lifestyle. She would make those hard choices over and over again just as long as she didn't have to feel the sourness of ever going hungry again. Ever.
The Dragonborn hated her nose, of course, but she was to wear it with pride when she would walk down her streets. Those who saw her would know that she had paid her dues and that she was allowed this power that had come to her. Thoughts of her father and being hungry made the Dovahkiin suck up the pain, push away from the mirror and bitterly turn away from the reflection that bit back at her. This was who she was now, something bigger and better than that starving little girl who thought goodness was all that there was in a world so cruel. And they would all see it, every single one of them who wanted to try and take this greatness away from her.
Standing along in the room that had once belonged to Ulfric made her heart rush and thoughts of those times dissipate. The Dragonborn closed her eyes, the silence and the crackle of the fire rushing over her and calming her like a mother would calm an angry child. Breathing in deeply and the smell of ash lingered in the air still as it expanded in her lungs, some of the fires from Alduin's work still burning within the rubble that he had left behind. Her mind went to the World-Eater then, her eyes fixated upon the fire before her as she let her mind wander to the image of the great black dragon. Her great black dragon.
There had never been a more proud moment than having took Windhelm at his side. How funny it was considering she had spent all of those months chasing after him trying to undo his power. It had led her to places that she had never even dreamed of seeing, led to her people she had never even dreamed of meeting. But that same feeling of childish ignorance was the same associated with her father. At the very thought the woman's hands tightened. Never again would that happen, never again was she to be stupid or hungry.
Suddenly the sound of the earth quaking and the sky shuddering drew the Dragonborn from her thoughts, eyes up like a doe in the wild having heard a hunter.
"DOVAHKIIN!"
Voices, that's all they had was their voices. The Grey Beards called her and that's all they had done since discovering their masters death. They were angry with her but they were no men to fear, they would only rot and fester upon the mountain like putrefied wounds. The Dragonborn's hands clenched harder and her brow furled as she had turned away from the fire, her feet carrying her towards the tiny little window where the light of day spilled in like blood spilled through cut skin. "Come fight me if you are so mad!"The Dovahkiin shouted at the top of her lungs, angry and knowing full well they could not hear her. "Fight me if you are so wrathful and sore that I killed your master!"
There was lots of rage in her heart that had finally began to find it's peace, even if just a little. The coldness nipped at her cheeks, the breath of cold air stinging at her hurting nose, as she stared at the mountain that had slowly overtime become an eyesore. She had promised herself that when she was done with Skyrim and the taking of Nirn, that mountain would be whittled down until it was nothing more than a sick memory. Even if she had to do it herself that mountain would be gone, erased from time itself.
Suddenly a knock at the door had caused the Dragonborn to turn wildly towards the sound and like a dog barking at unwelcome guests she shouted for the visitor to come in. Before her stood the Steward Jorleif, his eyes with the same hate she bore, and as they stared at one another he cleared his throat to begin. "The guards have rounded up the remainder of the citizens as per your request," the Steward said while giving her an almost distinct hatred, the words seethed from him spitefully so. "They are in the main hall awaiting you."
"I'll be there shortly now begone." she answered while waving her hand in the air, annoyance seeping off of her like water trickled from melting ice.
Jorleif did not speak, had no answer other than shutting the door behind him. As soon as she could she would replace him. He reminded her of that mountain that she was to decimate once all of this was over and there was absolutely no way she would continue to put up with him as long as she had been here. She was to be damned by Akatosh himself before she was to take on that sort of attitude any longer.
But quickly throwing those feelings to the wind the Dragonborn stomped her way towards the door. With each heavy step and deep breath that followed, the air cracking against her lungs, she quickly gathered herself before facing her charges. This anger beholden to her heart clouded her judgement, that she was well aware of, and truthfully this moping around business did no one good. Thoughts of Alduin calmed her soul and made her fingers twitch from the release of her fists. Dear Alduin, how truly blessed she was to have been born as the Dragonborn.
It made her heart wretch with delight that she had a dragon.
The narrow, almost steep hallways of the poorly designed keep made her feel too closed in. Snaking her way through the cold stone she found herself longing for the freedom that came with coming and going. She had hoped that with one of the other castles she would get it had a much better design than this one did. Atmora, they had said, it was designed as if they were in Atmora. But she jokingly bemused herself with the thought of why they had come to Tamriel. If all the buildings back in the homelands were this terrible, it was no wonder they all left.
Then she was there, in the hall of the once great Jarl Ulfric where the plots of once-important Stormcloaks took place. And there they all stood, some wide eyed and scared while others stared at her with contempt. The Dovahkiin flashed them all a smile and the angry ones of the lot sneered. Her heart raced, it felt good to be so bad.
"How kind of you to join us," she said while having wandered to the handful that were the only living souls of her city. "I take it you know why you are all here?"
Those who looked frightened appeared to have lost their tongues, gone white from different thoughts of why they had been rounded up. There was a moment of thought before a quick squeak had been thrown to her feet. "To kill us?"
"To kill you? Hah! If I kill you then what point was there to taking the city?" the woman laughed and it hit them all like a slap in the face. They were like ghosts now, even the dark-skinned elf who had initially greeted her when she had come to the city. The dark of his eyes made his cheeks look thin and for a moment she had remembered the hope that had once been there. There was pain now, only pain and terror and what appeared to be some dried blood. The Dovahkiin moved her eyes from that one and she stared at an unruly Nord who stood out from the rest. He was bald and smelled like a tavern full of sailors and fish wenches, older but none the wiser in appearance.
"No, I will not kill you," she said quietly after a moment of eye-contact with the Nordic man who stared fiercely and defiantly. "your gold will prevent me from doing just that."
There was a soft gasp from one of the townsfolk as the words struck them all once more. This terror that they had possessed made her heart sing like a wolf howling at the moon. All of this felt right and though the moments of doubt struck her like a blow to the back of the knee, this is what made it all feel perfect. Turning quickly to one of the guards the Dovahkiin found herself beckoning him over to which he aptly obeyed. A feeling of dread could be felt from him and the woman seized her moment like a viper dove at it's pray. Turning her back to her people, arms around her crossed over her chest, she began to order him to do her bidding. Unfortunately not a wise move to turn your back to your enemies.
She spoke soft words, they were soft but held weight, and sadly the words drowned out the sound of footsteps. "Gather their gold and bring it to-"
And suddenly the wind had been knocked out of her with a fierce punch akin to Galmar's, like as if she had fallen into dark, icy water by accident. There was a blow to the back of her lungs that left her gasping and writhing for air, her eyes watering and ugly beneath the fur of her proud bear pelt. Somewhere behind her more gasps could be heard and the stomping of feet ushered in a panicked struggle for precious air. Gods, why were they always gasping? If she hadn't have been in pain on the floor she'd have given them a reason to be afraid and always damn gasping. But alas, the lack of breathing made the moment stretch on like the moments before an execution.
Her guards did not help her though, merely stunned or perhaps wanting this justice, as the attacker took to his feet to ripped her from the floor. Through the water in her eyes she spied the grizzled nordic man and quickly he held her by the fur of her armor. Her lungs burned, the watering spilled from the corners of her eyes, and though struggling against his grip her fingers fished for any kind of weapon. "You Dragonborn bitch," he yelled in her face and the spit mixing with the salt tears. "I will crush your skull!"
The gold of her eyes widened as he let go of one of her leather straps and wound up a fist, anger readying him to in fact crush her skull with one blow after another. Words struggled against her mind, lungs still burning but healing, they ignited in pain but grew with gasps of badly needed air. No, she was not to die here. She would die gloriously like a Dragonborn was to die. In fire and flame upon a mountain, not crying and writhing for air like a fish plucked out of water.
She was the Dragonborn, she was the Dovahkiin, the thoughts hit her harder than any fist to the lung had. And with a force unknown to her she felt a rush of anger, tongue swelling and air pumping through her body. Absolutely not, he was not worthy to take her life as she was the Dragonborn!
"Fusrodah!"
The air from her lungs was a force that he was not expecting. He let her go and she fell to the floor, stumbled but finding her own anger as she had done so. Upon her knees but gaining strength she forced herself up and grabbed her axe, the feeling a welcoming thing through the next hungering for air. Alduin was not here to steal this one, this was hers and she was to savor it. By the Divines she was to make this stretch on.
And unsure of what to make of the sudden impact of funneled air he did not see her walk towards him with her air in hand. It was too late for that, he didn't see the first strike come down like the executioner making a murder pay for his crimes.
"I am the Dragonborn!" she yelled, the sound of her ferocity echoing off of the stone walls. "You will submit to me!"
Wild, lovely and wild but savage. Blood stained the white of her hair as one heavy axe cleaved after the other. Through the steel of his armor she hacked and her people watched with a terrified stare that made the Dragonborn feel even more on edge. Whether he was still screaming in pain mattered little to her, it was drowned out by the force of her axe and her blood pumping through her veins. To what end did she know? None, there was no ending when madness set itself in.
And yes, he did submit after about nine different hacks to the chest.
She kicked the body over and turned to the guards who did not help her in her time of need, eyes with that wild look once more. She would have made an example of one of them in time but it would have seemed that divine intervention made for a better turn of events. Lucky them, they were lucky that she didn't turn around and deliver the same fate to them.
"Gather their gold and put it in the treasury," she spat with a heavy heave of her aching of her own chest. "and make sure you get it all. Ulfric had a sorry state of affairs and I am sure these people do not want to pay for the Jarl's crimes."
A familiar sound of footsteps upon the roof came with a heavy fall that made dust fall from the ceiling. A soft whimper and crying could be heard from the small group of onlookers and though still blood and tired from her fight, the Dragonborn turned to her people and gave them a shake of her head. They were silly but they were hers. She may have killed people but she was not abusive. Death to the Dragonborn was a swift thing, torture was a cowards way of going about the inevitable and she was no coward.
"Nobody will be fed to the World-Eater, you have my word." she responded while giving them yet another shake of her head, the white of her hair fluttering about. "Besides, you are all much too skinny. Sifnar will be sure to feed you tonight or he will be the one being fed to the dragon."
They were still crying but the Dragonborn didn't care to think about that much longer. The Guards did as they were told and began to get the precious coins from the crying folk who prayed for a proper savior. Unsure if it was the terror or presence of Alduin, the woman's heart rushed as her blood continued to pump through her veins. Alduin was here after having left her for the night, the happiness welled and it felt wonderful.
"Dovahkiin!" she had heard once more, the voice belonging to the black dragon. Knowing when she was needed, she left the crying crowd with a wicked smile curling her lips and within moments she had passed through the door of the palace to greet her companion. Feet padding through the snow upon the ground, eyes upward toward the ice covered roof, the adrenaline of death made the Dragonborn feel like shouting at the top of her recovering lungs. The area of her back hurt still but she could ignore the pain for the World-Eater.
"Dear World-Eater," she said with a coo-like softness. "did you find what you were looking for?"
Alduin peered down to the Dragonborn with a inquisitive look. He spied the blood in her hair. "Geh- Dii sahrot alok!" he said with a proud shout. "My army will rise and we will be mighty. But blood- Joor rahgron? Boziik."
What he had been saying, she had no idea. But she looked down from the dragon, heart somehow feeling more rested and her back hurting less, his presence was welcomed even if they were still unsure of one another. To think that she had been comforted by the legendary World-Eater. The smile lingered, her World-Eater.
But then her eyes twisted upward toward the rubble that had been left behind from their destruction. It was vast and wide and still smoldering, the smoke still pouring into the sky to ward off any wanders who come in search of Windhelm and it's no longer existing residences. From where she stood there were a few singed bodies still not gathered by the priests. They would be left there to rot and picked at by hungry birds before the priests would be wise enough to come get them.
"The last of the residence have been summoned for the gold. There was a fight but it was quickly put down." she responded after a moment of the two looking onward. Somewhere out there she was sure somebody was crying but she had hardened her heart to that thought. Foolishness if tears were to be shed for ashes and rubble.
"Rinik prodah- Well done. In time they will submit, they always do." Alduin commented. Again she stared, unsure of his words, and she turned once more to stare up at him like a child stared at their parent. He returned her eye and it was a look of question. "Right, you do not speak our tongue. Paaz. We will have to correct that mistake when we return from Markarth."
The Dovahkiin found herself full of many questions but decided to ask the more pressing one. "Markarth? Why would we go from Windhelm to Markarth? Would that not give way to a revolt?"
Alduin took to the sky, the ice crashing to the ground once more, and though he wished the disrespectful mortal to not talk back to him, Alduin only laughed as he took her within his great talons. This time much more prepared for it the woman felt the rush of air and the feeling of pain where the man had punched her in the lungs. As uncomfortable as that was, it still had nothing on her currently aching nose and facial area.
But through the pain she had seen the great scaled beast of white scales coming from the area in which appeared to be towards the west. Behind it followed a dragon of bronze, both equally as terrifying as the next.
"Viinrofel, Fiikrelov," Alduin shouted and the Dovahkiin only watched. "- guardians of Windhelm. Nothing will revolt."
Perhaps there was nothing to fear. Having slaughtered a man in her hall and now two dragons to keep watch- was there really anything to doubt? It was in this moment the Dragonborn truly felt safe, safer than she had ever felt before and the irony being her within the claws of a massive scaled beast and the foretold bringer of end times. It was in this moment the feeling of safety made her feel stronger, prouder.
And maybe even a true bit of admiration for a creature made of death.
