Luthien did not go back to sleep that night. She remained in the throne room for a long time before going back to her room. She feared the Jarl would still be there, sitting on her bed, trying to wrap his arms around her, caressing her ears against her will. Simply thinking of him made her shudder. After her trip to Skyrim, after the captain, she had always been afraid of a man's touch. She had been scared of Ralof too, but he had proven her wrong. Always respectful and kind, he had melted a door in her defences. The Jarl, on the other hand, had barged in with his unwanted touches, unnerving smiles and hard looks. She had a very bad feeling about the man, but she could not quite place her finger on it.

When she finally went back to her room, she tiptoed, as if the massive stone floor could creak and betray her presence. Holding her breath, she placed an ear to the door. Hearing no sign of the Jarl's presence, she gently and noiselessly lifted the locket and slightly pushed the door open. Flattening herself on the wall, she slipped in the warm chamber like water through rocks. Closing the door behind her without even a creak, she rested her back on the heavy oak for an instant, allowing her heartbeat to slow. A little smile appeared on her lips as she placed her hand on her chest; She used to feel like that when she went on jobs for the Hooded man on the Waterfront. Clearly, it was time to leave.

Her knapsack strapped on her back, her cloak tightly wrapped around her small body, she was standing in front of Calder's room. She stood there for a few minutes, deliberating about knocking or leaving without him. She could not imagine herself delving in yet another bandit and corpse infested cave, but neither could she imagine herself being under the constant watch of the Jarl's henchman. Clutching Ralof's amulet in her hand, she made her way to the palace door, alone. Skyrim's cold wind and nigh eternal snow greeted her. In the moonlight, she could see guards patrolling, but the city was otherwise deserted. With a determined exhale, she covered her head and face with the heavy fur hood and left Windhelm behind her.

Ralof finally arrived in Dawnstar a little past noon. He had not yet made his way to the Jarl's Longhouse that her heard a terrible roar echoing through the mountains. He saw the guards running toward the forge, bows in hand, looking up. He had just lowered his backpack to the ground when he saw a large grey dragon diving from the mountaintop. It landed on the snow-covered rooftop, flapping his powerful wings and lifting white clouds of delicate snowflakes. The newly appointed Officer, remembering his position, unsheathed his sword and ran toward the terrified guards. "Archers, ready your bows. Aim for the wings!"

Just as the first volley was about to be released, the dragon roared and a blizzard shot out of his large maw, forcing a few guards to their knees. "Archers, fire!" shouted the blond man feeling completely inadequate with his sword, his bow being neatly packed in his bag. The tight scales mostly deflected the arrows but a few found their target in the translucent cartilage of the wings. More annoyed than hurt; the dragon lifted itself from the roof with a few waves of his majestic wings, the characteristic low vibration echoing through the city. It dived once more, bathing the guards and their new Officer in ice shards. Ralof heard a scream through the ice storm and once it was over he noticed they were one guard short. Grabbing the missing man's bow, he snatched three arrows in the nearest guard's quiver and tried to aim at the beast. It was proving to be quite the challenge. The monster kept circling over their heads, changing altitude every once in a while making it incredibly hard to lock on the target. As soon as the ice-breathing monster perched itself once more on the roofs, Ralof aimed and fire at what he thought would be a soft spot just below the beast's clavicle. The arrow had just left the bow when the dragon lowered its head to release frozen hell on the warriors. Talos must have been watching the battle, thought Ralof, as his arrow embedded itself in the monster's pitch black eye, effectively stopping the frost breath. Angered and wounded, the dragon took flight once more, grabbing another guard in his claws before fleeing the city with one last roar.

"What a first day", mumbled Ralof as he made his way toward his garrison.

Ralof had been occupying his new post for a little more than three days and had to deal with three attacks from the newly named One-Eyed-Menace. It seemed the dragon considered Dawnstar as its personal buffet. It had all began a few days after Helgen. It would come from the mountain, breathing ice, and it would pick one or two bystanders a day. His coming and going were pretty random; it could strike in the morning as well as in the dead of the night, snatching beggars, guards and merchants alike. Ralof had learned that his predecessor and vanished in such an attack. There had been no remains for the families to bury. Needless to say, the people were desperate. There were no children running in the streets, no workers by the forge, no travelling merchants settling their tents outside the city; in a matter of days, it had become a shell of its former self. The only regular people walking around were the guards, making rounds and passing rations to the barricaded citizens.

This is how Luthien found the city when she arrived that morning. Ustengrav was about six hours on foot from there, so she had seized the opportunity to make a surprise visit to her dear friend and saviour. Seeing the familiar blue draped silhouette ahead, the little Dunmer waved enthusiastically and called his name, a large radiant smile on her face.

Upon hearing his name, the man ran to her. She was a little surprised to see panic written all over is face as he came closer. As soon as he was standing in front of her, he grasped her shoulder and looked her up nervously, searching for injuries.

"What are you doing here Luthien?" he nearly screamed at her.

"I'm going to Ustengrav, it's close from here, so I thought..." she began before he interrupted her.

"Well, you thought wrong! You need to leave at once. Has no one told you a dragon has been attacking this city?"

At the mention of dragon, he could see the colours draining from her face.

"Alduin?" she said in a little tensed voice.

"The one from Helgen? No, it's a small one, grey, which breathes ice. We managed to wound it, but it comes back every day to feed." He added, looking at the sky every once in a while. "You need to leave before it come back, Luthien".

She looked toward the mountain suddenly, inhaling deeply before replying.

"Whether I wish it or not, I'm Dragonborn, Ralof. I have to fight him". Her gaze locked with his as she faced him once more. "He is close. I can feel him. Get ready!"

Ralof was about to retort when he heard a roar and felt the low vibrations associated with the beast flapping his wings. Running toward the city, he ordered his men to take cover and ready their bows. He could hear the little elf following him closely, flames crackling in her palms. "Ignite your arrows", she said to the men extending her flaming palm. This time, when the dragon passed over the roofs, it was greeted with fiery arrows. The beast roared fiercely when they pierced his wings, burning the flesh and some even piercing the scales.

"Dovahkiin", roared the beast as it landed on the Jarl's roof.

"You are not welcome here Dragon", said the Dunmer, walking in plain sight, avoiding Ralof's hand as he tried to hide her inside a house.

"I decide where I am welcome Dovahkiin" answered the dragon. "I answer to Alduin alone".

To everyone present, this exchange sounded like roars, stones clashing against stones and old forgotten language mixed together, but to Luthien it was clear as Dunmeri. She was not even aware she was speaking another language; it came naturally to her as it did in her nightmares ever since she absorbed the first dragon's soul.

Seeing the beast getting ready to blow frost on the little elf, Ralof plunged and tackled her to the ground, effectively shielding her from the icy blast with his own body. Seeing their Officer in distress, the guards fired once more at the dragon, igniting their arrows with torches. While the dragon howled in pain, Ralof lifted himself from the ground, releasing the Dunmer. He was about to yell at her for her careless attitude when he saw her expression change from annoyed and determined to afraid and furious. He barely had time to turn around and see the enormous jaws coming toward him that he felt pulled back and landed sitting in the snow. Stepping between the dragon's jaw and him was his little Dunmer friend. Yet, she was nearly unrecognizable. He could hear her growl deeply inside her ribcage, her little frame shaking with uncontrolled anger. When she spoke, her voice was seemingly not her own; deeper and stronger than he had ever thought possible.

"FUS RO", she shouted at the dragon's face.

As the dragon slightly stepped back, shaken by the Shout, she said something in Dunmeri and was, instantly, covered in a blazing inferno. Little flames were dancing around her, making the snow melt and evaporate in a white mist where she stood. What happened next would likely be sung by bards and carved in stone for it was truly a vision of legend. The little woman stared running toward the scaled predator, gaining speed with every step until she reached the side of his head. Then, using her momentum, she grabbed a long tusk-like horn on the dragon's upper mandible and swung herself on top of its spiky head and straddled its narrowest part at the nape of the neck. It had all happened so fast, the One-Eyed-Menace had not been quick enough to avoid the Dragonborn. She could feel the scales melt and crack beneath her burning body. The Dragon roared in agony, shaking his majestic head from left to right in a desperate attempt to be rid of the searing pain.

The Dunmer Dragonborn had hooked her feet around horns and wrapped her legs tightly on each side of the large neck and was not about to let go. Afraid they would hit the elf, the guard had lowered their bows and were, for the most part, looking in awe as the woman held on to the spiky head despite the dragon's attempt to dislodge her. They could see the viscous deep red blood of the creature boil as it came in contact with the flames until they flickered and died. Conjuring the fire in her palms, Luthien let long burst of scalding heat wash upon the spiky face until the beast howled one last time and crashed to the ground. Fortunately, the defeated monster did not fall to the side, or its slayer would have had her legs crushed having not had the time to jump before its fall. Once the dragon's flesh began combusting, Luthien allowed herself to slip to the snowy ground, exhausted. She braced herself for the reception of the soul but found herself slipping in unconsciousness before it could happen.

He could barely believe his eyes. The dragon that had paralyzed the city of Dawnstar for days was dead. It was more than dead actually, its very soul had been destroyed, absorbed by the Dragonborn. He stood for a moment, witnessing the combustion of the scaled corpse, until he was brought back to his senses by the sound of Luthien slipping from the beast's cremated neck. She looked broken and it scared him instantly. He was kneeling beside her in a second, cradling her frail body in his strong arms.

"Luthien?", he called with a wavering voice. "Luthien!", he called again a little louder.

He could see her chest slowly lifting up and down with her breathing, so he knew she was still alive, but it was not enough to appease him. She was still unconscious when a blinding light shot out of the dragon's bones and entered her body. He heard her gasp and saw her eyes opened for a brief moment before the light disappeared.

She came back to her senses when he lowered her on his bed in the guard's barrack. He was wrapping the thick wool blanket around her small frame when he felt her hand clasping his. Her eyes were barely opened and she looked exhausted.

"Sleep Luthien, I'll be right back", he whispered to her.

He was about to turn and leave to get some healing and stamina potions when he felt her grip tighten on his hand. It was not much, she was barely applying enough force to hold a quill, but he understood and sat next to her on the bed.

Jorvak was a true Nord. He was quite proud of it too. He was nearly born with a sword in his hand and was now, like his father before him, protecting Skyrim to the best of his ability. Like every little Nord, he had been taught the legend of the Dragonborn. The mythical warrior was always depicted as a tall, strong, blond man, able to best his opponents with a few swings of his dual broad swords and the strength of his Voice. He would be dressed in iron with the horn of his fallen enemies adorning his helmet. He would be everything Jorvak was with a touch of divine, but it seemed the Gods had been played. A filthy Elf, Ashborn no less, had magicked the power out of its rightful owner! He had seen how weak she was, how she was clearly not meant to carry the blessing she had stolen. Hopefully, their new Officer had kept his head and was probably questioning her with the help of the court wizard and alchemist. He, as many Nord, was reticent to use or be close to anything remotely magical, but he had to admit, it was practical, if cowardly, to use against enemies.

After the dragon had been slain, the remaining guards had had to deal with the overly joyous citizen. They had been hesitant, at first, to get out of their houses to look upon the massive skeleton of their defeated enemy, but they had soon forgotten the fear and were now clogging the streets and sharing stories about the battle they had not seen. Jorvak and his fellow guards had encouraged the people to remain inside while they made sure the place was safe, to no avail; the citizens were out of control and already planning to celebrate the famous Dragonborn. Annoyed with their stories and agitation, the tall guard made his way toward the barracks. There was no real prison in Dawnstar, but he was sure his Officer had carried the imposter in a secure room for interrogation. As soon as he entered the wooden building a wave of fear hit him. He could hear no scream, no barked questions, no broken voice spitting answer. He was too late; the interrogation was over.

He was about to search for the Officer when he was met with a revolting sight. The blond man who led them was in bed with the usurper! Gods be praised, they were still clothed! The little witch was sleeping peacefully, wrapped in the blanket while the Officer slept, his chest pressed against her back, over the covers with his arms around her. The disgusted guard was slowly backing away from the bed when a floorboard creaked, instantly waking his Officer.

Ralof was still a little hazy from the short nap, but the disgusted expression on his man's face was easily recognizable. He hastily stood beside the bed with a slightly guilty look on his face. To say elves ever badly seen in Skyrim as a euphemism. Most Nords considered them like traitor lepers and to associate with one of them was frowned upon especially in smaller cities or villages. They were tolerated in the big cities because they were often proficient merchants or good enchanters and because the guards punished violence. Some were even accepted in mercenary groups, but there was one place they were absolutely banned from: a True Nord's bed.

"It's not what you think…", began the blond man, attempting to defuse the situation. "I'm not…".

"Not an Elf lover? Is that it?", screamed the guard. "That's exactly what you are Officer", finished the man with hatred.

Without casting another look at his superior, he exited the barrack.

When she woke up, it was already nighttimes. She could see many guards were already sleeping in their cot, but she could not see Ralof. She was a bit ashamed to notice the blood on the blankets; her dirty armour had not been removed prior to her being wrapped in the warm fabric.

The barrack was composed of four main rooms. The dinning area was the first from the entry door. Then came the bedroom, a training room and the latrines. Tiptoeing toward the light in the barrack, she finally found Ralof sitting alone in the dinning area, nursing a pint of mead. He was obviously lost in his thoughts for he did not hear her approach and jumped slightly when she placed her hand on his shoulder.

"Can I sit with you", she asked softly to avoid disturbing the sleepers.

The tall man seemed to think about it, than nodded. They stayed sitting next to each other for a few minutes, neither knowing what to say. It had been an eventful day.

"Would you like a drink", asked the blond man equally softly.

When she nodded, he lifted himself up and went to serve her a pint of mead. She had never really drunk alcohol, but she still accepted the drink when he placed it in front of her.

"To the Dragonborn", he said forlornly, taking a large gulp while sitting down beside her.

She took a tiny sip out of the huge tankard and, grimacing, pushed it a little away from her. Beside her, she could hear Ralof chuckling. When she looked at him with a small contrite smile he added "Milk drinker" and chuckled some more before going back to his previous pensive mood.

After a few more minutes in silence she asked "Is it really that bad to be an Elf lover?".

"Oh...", he answered almost ashamed, "You heard".

Yes, she had heard and it had crushed her heart. She had known since Windhelm that she was not meant to be with him but she had still entertained the hope that maybe… But to hear him say it, that he was not an "Elf lover", was almost physically painful.

"It's not bad", he said startling her. "It's just that, we are… Some of us are pretty narrow-minded. The White Gold Concordat was pretty hard to swallow; we Nords have worshiped Talos for centuries. It's part of our culture!", he stopped to take swing at his tankard. "The High Elves have taken that culture and spat on it!", he sighed. "It's very hard, for some, to see past 'elves are against Talos, Talos was a Nord thus elves are against Nords'".

He had said all that keeping his eyes riveted to his tankard and she could see the tension in his shoulders.

"What about you?", she asked in a nearly choked voice, "Can you see past it".

"Luthien", he breathed, "of course! And that's the problem", he finished; looking in her eyes desperately as if his look could convey a message his voice could not.

"How is it a problem?", asked the little grey woman.

He sighed once more, emptying his tankard before answering.

"I was like him, you know, Jorvak, before I met you. Stupid and narrow minded. My men would lose their respect for me. It's the best way to end up dead in battle. I can't have that", he finished, contrite.

"Then I'm sorry to have caused you trouble", whispered Luthien standing up and walking toward the door that led outside, tears forming in her moon-coloured eyes.

She had her hand on the door handle when she felt him grip her arms, turn her around and flatten her against the heavy wood. His face was inches away from her and she could smell the mead on his breath, his chest nearly pressing against her own; she felt trapped, helpless.

"That's not what I meant", he said his eyes shinning with repressed tears.

His grip lessened and he took a quarter step back, bringing his hand to her face, lightly caressing her cheek with his fingertips. She was scared and he knew it, he could see it in her tensed stance, her wide-open eyes and her slightly faster breathing pattern, but he had to finish. She would run away, most likely never come back, and his life would go on as before: elf less, simpler.

"Ever since I joined the Stormcloaks I've always thought elves meant trouble. Especially magic ones. I don't want to be shunned by my brothers in arm for being with one, I don't want them to look the other way when I will need help on the battlefield". Seeing she was not about to say anything he continued.

"I'm scared", he said clenching his jaw. "Scared of what it might mean, scared of myself, scared of what the other will think…". Despite his best efforts, tears found their way to his cheeks, disappearing in his short blond beard. "And despite all that, Talos help me, I love you Luthien", he finished.

He little grey face has streaked with tears; tears of fear, of pain but mostly of joy. Grabbing his blond head with both hands, she stood on tiptoes and harshly pressed her lips against his. It could hardly be called a kiss, more like a punch but with lips instead of fist. If he was shocked by her reaction, it was not for long. His lips were instantly moving fiercely with hers. They could not get enough of each other like starved people presented with a banquet. Her hands were gripping the nape of his neck, fisting in his long blond locks, while his wrapped around her thighs lifting her from the ground. His hungry lips muffled her surprised squeal as he slightly pushed his tongue past her teeth. He pressed his large chest against hers, backing her to the wooden door once more, effectively pinning her in place. As she wrapped her legs around his waist she heard him moan lowly in the kiss. Encouraged, she shifted, rocking lightly against a rather large bulge beneath the leather breeches, chainmail and blue drape. She heard him moan once more as he bit his lips to muffle the sound.

She shivered, as his lips left her mouth to attack the side of her neck. Her breathing was quick and shallow in anticipation. It was so unlike Jarl Ulfric's touch, she craved Ralof's. When after what felt to her like hours of soft agony his lips closed around her earlobe, she nearly screamed. Despite expecting his touch, she could not muffle the high-pitched wavering moan that snuck out of her throat. Expecting her reaction, Ralof had hopefully brought his callous hand to her mouth, which prevented them from startling the whole Dawnstar garrison awake.

"How I wish we were back in Windhelm right now", he whispered in her hear, his voice husky with arousal.

She could feel his close-cropped beard trickling the highly sensitive cartilage, sending waves of pleasure to her core.

"Why", she answered breathlessly.

"Privacy would be bliss", he added, lightly licking her ear from the lobe to the pointy tip.

Despite her completely white eyes, he was almost sure hers rolled back in ecstasy. It was almost unfair how easy it was for him to make her moan underneath his touch. Almost. For someone as shy as she had been, he had to admit she was doing a wonderful job at making his pants more and more uncomfortable. She had untied the blue cloak from around him and was about to attack the chain mail clasp at the nape of his neck when he stopped her.

"We can't", he panted. "It's too noisy to take off".

She protested by rubbing her groin against his hardness once more.

"Give me a minute, I'll be right back", he panted.

She unhooked her legs from her waist and he tiptoed to his bunk to take off the offending piece of armour. It was a familiar noise around a guard barrack and despite it not being silent, it did nothing but make a few men turn in their beds. After the long sleepless night due to the dragon attack, it was understandable thought Ralof relieved.

When he stepped back in the dinning area, he was wearing nothing but a tread bare white shirt, his leather breaches and his boots. Luthien had removed everything but the inner layer of her mage robes. The fabric was so light he could see her perky nipples sticking out licking his lower lip he stepped toward her. When he wrapped his strong arms around her, it was not urgent as before, it was not threatening; he brought her to his warm chest and lifted her chin. Their lips met in a soft kiss and for a moment there was only them, now, until Ralof rubbed his thumb across her ear. She was instantly wrapped around him like before. She was so light and clung so tightly to him he managed to untied his breeches while backing her up the wall. His engorged member sprung free and he heard her gasp as the burning hot flesh made contact with her wet folds. He teased her ear one more time while lifting her light tunic and brushed his middle finger against the little bud of nerve between her legs. She literally mewled, muffling the sound in his muscled shoulder as her blunt nails racked his back. All he wanted to do at that point was delve inside her warm, small, grey body and lose himself in the ecstasy, but he was nearly painfully aware that he was most likely larger than the average elf; he was larger than the average Nord. Bringing his hand to her mouth he breathed, "Open you mouth". He saw a very brief flash of fear cross her face then she parted her lips. She had obviously no idea about what to do, but with a bit of coaxing he managed to have her coating his finger in a generous amount of saliva. As he slipped a finger inside her terribly tight channel, she heard her protest.

"No, I want… you. Not… your… fingers!", she managed to say breathlessly.

"You will, but I don't want to hurt you little one", he answered almost silently against her ear.

He could see surprise on her face and a lone tear ran down her face as she smiled softly. She shivered when he pushed a second finger in and started rubbing a spot she never even knew existed inside of her. He felt the fabric of his shirt rip as she clawed at his back desperately trying to remain silent through his ministrations. When he added a third and final finger he felt her tense and clamp repetitively against the intruding appendages. He eyes were tightly closed and her mouth was open in a silent "o" of pleasure. He very nearly came just like that, looking at her becoming undone because of him. When he relaxed once more, he pulled the fingers out of her and rubbed his length a few times to coat it in her fluids.

"It might hurt a bit, 'm sorry", he mumbled breathlessly against her ear.

Unable to do more, she simply nodded and crushed her lips against his. It did hurt a bit as he pushed himself inside her. "Azura", she thought, "how can he walk with such a thing between his legs". It burned, but it was so good at the same time. When he started to move she felt as if the word had shattered and they were left alone, floating in the Void. She could hear nothing but his ragged breath and muffled groans and feel nothing but his touch both in and out of her. His grip has bruising her skin but she did not care, she could not; there was only pleasure and Ralof. They became one and the same as she peaked for the second time that night. Suddenly, his thrusts became erratic and she felt him shudder inside of her as he spilled his pearly white seed. Once their breathing calmed and their limbs stopped trembling they both casted a scared look at the bedroom area. The garrison was still asleep. Thanking respectively Talos and Azura, Ralof and Luthien disentangled. The little elf nearly collapsed as she tried to retrieve her clothes from a nearby chair. Chuckling deeply with a proud lopsided grin, the tall Officer lifted her in his arms and carried her bridal style to his bed.

"Good night", he whispered against her ear, making sure his lips grazed the highly sensible skin. He walked away to retrieve her clothes, chuckling some more as he heard her breath catch in her throat.

He was folding her robes at the foot of his bed when he heard her whisper to him.

"Your men, they don't have to know… about this. They cannot know", she pleaded him.

"It wouldn't exactly be fair to you if I hid you like a shameful secret", he answered in a very low tone. "I love you, you are not a back-alley drunk fling, there is no…". He was silenced by a little black finger on his lips.

"I don't want you killed in battle because your men lost their respect for you. I will gladly be your shameful secret if it means we can be together." She then whispered something that sounded like a spell, which he could not understand. "It means 'I love you' in Dunmeri", she said, smiling at his confused face.

When she left the next morning, Luthien could feel a dull throbbing in her lower parts. Smiling sadly, she remembered her goodbye with Ralof. It had been terribly clipped, short and distant as the guards were now awake and eyeing her suspiciously. She could also feel the people looking at her in a new light. Some, especially the children, looked at her in awe; a little Redguard boy had given her a pastry and a little girl had insisted on giving her a hug despite her mother's protests. Some others, like the woman in question, had looked at her with disdain; the mother had even made a comment about ash soiling her daughter's dress. She was unfortunately used to such comments. Living on the Waterfront of the Imperial City was, rightfully, associated with people of little means, often refugees, beggars or thieves. It was not uncommon for children and sometimes drunk noblemen from the City to come down from their cozy houses and clean streets to insult and seek trouble with the "Waterfront Rats" as they liked to call them. Luthien was a bit surprised to receive such unkind comments after saving the city from a Dragon, but she bit her tongue and kept walking toward Ustengrav remembering her talk with Ralof and Nord's simplistic views on elves. She patted her pocket discreetly making sure her precious package was still secured. The little inkwell, quill and parchments were still where Ralof had placed them discreetly in the morning she noticed, smiling. He had told her to write to him when she could, as he would do the same.

She only had a little problem… she could hardly spell her name, especially in Norse.