TADAAAAAA! I'm actually not dead! Sorry for the wait, but I had writer's block and then my computer did a quadriple backflip and I almost lost everything, and school holidays are not as easy as they sound and BALLS.

I am far too lazy to add a description to every dovahzul sentence in the series (I am currently learning the language in full), so if I may direct everyone to a website named THUUM dot ORG, you will find a translator there, which will be helpful, because I am going to have a lot of dovahzul in this story as the chapters go on.

Qassanda didn't know how she kept finding herself in need of help. She needed Lupa in Cyrodiil to save her from Lucien. She needed Ulfric in Helgen to save her from the dragon. She even needed the damned guards now to save her from this dragon! She crouched behind some debris of the fallen Western watchtower, hiding from the hot fire and sharp claws that the dragon wielded. It spoke in a deep, growling voice.

"Zu'u fen siiv sahlo joor. Nii fen mah wah dii rax ahrk dii jusk. Nii Nis Filok Dii Bah!"
Qassanda swallowed and loosed another arrow at the dragon before ducking back into cover. A battle cry stole her attention as well as the dragon's, a group of soldiers led by a dark elf were running towards the pair, and Qassanda sighed in relief at the heavy weapons they bore, grinning as they accompanied her in the fight.

The dragon fell to the ground as Qassanda's fifth arrow tore through its leathery wing and roared in rage, snapping at soldiers and throwing them into the air, as well as burning them alive. It caught Qassanda with one clawed foot and she screamed as the huge talons carved into her flesh like a hot blade through butter.

The dragon took no notice and finally moved, allowing Qassanda to drag herself away. She was helped to her feet by someone she didn't know and the man was eaten a moment later. Despite the agony of her back, Qassanda grabbed a greatsword from a corpse and held it, screaming in equal agony and rage as she brandished it and drove it into the dragon's skull.

The creature gave a final roar and was still. The scales began to dissolve, as if they were paper burning slowly, and became a golden light, which swirled around Qassanda before entering her body with the whoosh of wind.

One guard removed his helmet, gazing at Qassanda with an expression of mixed confusion, awe and respect.

"You…you're Dragonborn…" he whispered. Qassanda scoffed weakly.

"That's ridiculous."

The guard shook his head, white hair brushing his cheeks slightly.

"There's no other explanation. The dragons have returned, and you absorbed its soul. You must be Dragonborn."

Qassanda scowled but said nothing, feeling the rush of adrenaline from the fight fading left her weak and her knees wobbled, eventually giving out. Qassanda fell into someone's arms and familiar lips pressed again her hair as a familiar rough voice spoke.

"Thank Ysgramor, you're alright!"

Qassanda's consciousness began to fade, but as she drifted off into sleep she said one last thing.

"Don't tell anyone…I'm Dragonborn."

Farkas looked down at Qassanda and kissed her on the forehead, looking at the dark elf that had a scent of dominance about her. The werewolf had counted five-and-twenty guards as he ran towards the battle.

Three remained, if one excluded Qassanda, who Farkas lifted high and began to carry back to Whiterun.

Arya stood outside Breezehome. Her face was blank, her eyes dry. Vilkas stood at her side, his hand looped around her waist protectively. He had seen that expression before, once when he had interrupted one of her contracts. His beloved Arya was following a poor Breton girl, and Vilkas knew with one glance into the silvery depths of her eyes that she didn't feel anything.

Whenever Arya adopted that expression, her scent changed, as if her very being had changed along with it. The usually sweet and welcoming scent of his wife became bitter and spicy, making him want to wrinkle his sensitive nose to stave the scent off. He hated to see sweet Arya like that, his (sort of) innocent wife looked like an emotionless killer, and he would prefer to hear her cry over seeing her look like this.

The wooden gates of Whiterun crept open hesitantly, and in stepped in a shape all too familiar to Arya. She waited patiently for him to near and spotted the figure draped in his arms. Once Farkas stopped Arya leaped into the question.

"Is she alive?"

The werewolf nodded and Vilkas smiled as Arya's scent returned to normal.

"Oh, thank the gods!" she near shrieked, gesturing her marriage-brother into the house and up the wooden steps.

"Here, lay her on this bed," she said, motioning to the guest bed and also summoning magic into her hands and kneeling beside Qassanda to heal her wounds. She turned the thief onto her stomach and carefully removed the armour she was wearing, feeling Vilkas turn away, his face as red as Farkas', who watched quietly.

Suddenly protective of her friend, Arya whistled over her shoulder.

"Hey, Farkas, go get me some canis root from the ingredient chest downstairs, it's easy to recognise, just a simple brown root. DO NOT get it confused with jarrin root or it'll kill her."

Vilkas tapped his twin's shoulder.

"I'll show you which is which." They left to walk down the stairs and Qassanda moaned as she came to.

"Damn it all…it fucking hurts!" she muttered, Arya gave her friend a grin.

"It's okay; the boys are just grabbing some canis root for you." They could hear the argument from where they sat. Qassanda smirked.

"Good idea."

The twins both barged into the room with a different root in their hand, Farkas' was brown, splotched with darker brown, while Vilkas' was dark brown and splotched with red.

Arya took the root from Farkas and sighed.

"You two need a lesson in Alchemy. This," she held up the canis root, "is canis root. It causes Paralysis and small amounts can be used to dull pain. That," she pointed to the root in Vilkas' hand, "is jarrin root, a rare, highly poisonous plant which could kill a dragon if it ate even a little."

Qassanda chuckled from the bed.

"Trying to kill me, Vilkas?"

Vilkas smirked.

"Maybe."

Farkas settled himself on the edge of the bed as Arya gave Qassanda a little piece of canis root and gazed upon her strong, pale back, which Arya wiped the blood off to observe the wounds. She untied Qassanda's breastband and the thief chuckled.

"Enjoying the view, Farkie?" She was answered by a laugh and Arya set to work with a healing spell, glancing over her shoulder at Vilkas.

"Could you grab me some elves ear too, love?"

Vilkas nodded, finally hearing an ingredient he knew about and trotted down the stairs to grab some from the bunch drying over the fireplace beside the garlic. Arya ate the ingredient raw to replenish her magicka and continued healing Qassanda until she could no longer sustain the spell, where she hurried down the stairs and returned with a mortar and pestle, as well as some wheat, some blue flowers and some kind of fungi, which she mixed together expertly, Qassanda stopped her once.

"Hey, knife-ears, if you use the nectar of the mountain flower as well as the petals, the potion will be stronger."

Arya smirked at the usually degrading name which Qassanda used fondly and began to squeeze nectar from the flower.

"Thanks, you muscle-headed drunkard."

Qassanda chuckled at this and drank the potions Arya gave her one by one, until her back was seamlessly healed. Her friend re-tied her breastband for her and she pushed herself up, rolling her shoulders and stretching, again, Vilkas turned away politely, and Farkas blushed as he looked at her bare stomach, then she stood and replaced her armour.

"Maybe next time I fight a dragon I'll wear stronger armour than fur," she muttered, Farkas kissed her softly.

"At least you're alright."

Qassanda laughed, stretching her stiff body again.

"Of course I am, Arya is a miracle worker." Though her face showed a smile, Farkas was frowning, his brow furrowed in deep thought, Arya smoothed out her crimson dress and stood as well, Qassanda pulled slightly on Farkas' hair.

"Let's go hunting, wolfie," she said, stepping out of the room after pulling Arya into a thankful hug, Farkas smirked and walked after her, though quickly lost her as she stepped out of Breezehome.

And what has Qassanda learned about wandering around where dragons hang about? Psh, nothing!

I wonder how an Australian three little pigs would go...hmm...

Grohiik: "Mal hiraak, mal hiraak, il zey ko."
Hiraak: "Gjok hi, meyz kotin dii bodein ahrk Zu'u fen luv hin pikoon vau hi gjok grohiik."
Grohiik: "Ruz Zu'u fen fuh, ahrk Zu'u fen puff, ahrk Zu'u fen bosu-"
Hiraak: "Shur nau, ruzun Hi los ful pruzah bosu joriin, hi wiizaan."
Grohiik: "Fos?"
Hiraak: "Wiizaan. Hi los wiizaan ahrk hi vis naak draaf, ful gjok vau."
THE END