Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Time to return to Skyrim! Trigger warnings for death, violence, fantastic racism and mentions of torture. My particular head-canon for my Hero of Kvatch was that she had Paget's disease, which includes thickened, painful bones, hence her temper and ability to take large amounts of damage.
…
The trip to Ivarstead had been uneventful, Hadvar and Lia going in steel armour and plain mage robes respectively, and now they stood at the bottom of the Seven Thousand Steps. He should have reported into a Legion camp but… his wife-to-be was the Dragonborn and he wouldn't leave her to make the dangerous trip on her own.
The Legion had taught the heavy-shouldered Nord pragmatism and actually going to Bruma made him understand the depths to which the inhabitants would go to survive. Lia had been nithing – but if she was the Dragonborn, even unawakened, did that make her actions dishonourable or simply necessary? The Blades had killed civilians who weren't even collaborators.
"We should go before someone realises who we are," Lia observed with a sigh. "I'm pretty sure couriers are killing horses all over Skyrim."
"Yeah," Hadvar agreed. "Tullius will want you to fight for the Legion and your mother…"
"I despise Ulfric on every level," she said flatly. "I'm not much fonder of Tullius. What do you say we move to Hammerfell when I bind and banish the World-Eater?"
"I could do that," Hadvar said as he headed for the steps.
"Wonderful."
It was a long and bitter climb punctuated by Lia stopping at every wayshrine to pay respects to Kyne, the Mother of Men and the giver of the Voice to humanity, and them having to kill whatever predator was fool enough to attack. On the upside, Lia killed her ice wraith – sending one of her ancestors back to Kyne for rebirth – and he braided a necklace from which to hang the tooth as proof. She even had the healed silver-blue scars to prove her adulthood.
He was glad they'd packed camping gear. They settled down just under the overhang where they'd killed the ice troll, Lia proving her talent for magic yet again by using Alteration to tan the hide as she had for the wolf pelts. It would make a good cold-repelling cloak.
The Legionnaire put their bedrolls together, spreading the furs on top, as Lia roasted the meat they'd salvaged from the wolves. Despite the golden ring on her little finger and the mage robes, she looked like any Nord hearthmistress preparing a meal for her household, and Hadvar thanked Talos for the courage He'd obviously granted him to approach the last of His descendants.
"Uncle Irkand just… looking at me like that," Lia suddenly said as the meat was being roasted on a griddle. "He was the family member I was closest to as a child and despite being a Blades assassin, he managed to live with more honour than I did."
"He never lived in Bruma," Hadvar pointed out. "What you did was nithing, Lia, but you have a chance to save the world. And you are a true hearthmistress."
"I'm descended from a bastard Priest of Akatosh who should have kept it in his robes and a drunken brawler with thickened bones who had a bad temper," she answered dryly. "That's the truth I've had to live, Hadvar."
"You forgot to add the treasonous grandfathers – Dengeir's a Stormcloak – selectively honourable mother, sneaky stepmother, assassin uncle and vanished father," he countered. "If you're going to put the worst spin on your family history."
Her generous mouth twitched. "Illustrious, aren't they?"
She dished up the meat, seasoned with a pinch of salt, and Hadvar wolfed down his portion. He could get used to Lia cooking wholly for him.
"Of all the damned people, I'm the fucking Dragonborn," she finally observed bitterly. "Why me, Hadvar?"
He chewed on his last bit of meat ruminatively before answering. "Maybe because of all your family, you know what it's like to be helpless and nithing," he finally said. "Imagine a killer like Irkand with a dragon's mercilessness. Or Jarl Balgruuf, who's descended from Wulfharth himself, with a dragon's arrogance. Or Ulfric with a dragon's Voice."
Lia bit her bottom lip. "You know just what to say, big guy."
"I've loved you for five years," he admitted. "I should have proposed to you sooner."
She smiled and leaned over to kiss him. After keeping themselves warm in the oldest way of men and mer alike, Hadvar felt her soft weight against him as she fell asleep. He would keep her on the path of honour and by his side, Talos willing.
…
They reached High Hrothgar a little after dawn and Lia inhaled sharply. The grey grim fortress was set just below the peak where the World-Eater was banished and where Paarthunax, the black dragon's lieutenant, now laired. They had called her, the Greybeards, but she suspected they'd not be pleased to realise she was of Blades blood.
Hadvar squeezed her hand and she smiled at him before walking up to the door.
Only to see a small white dragon, blue-eyed and frill-necked, land on the roof. "Drem Yol Lok," he greeted in a gentle rumble that shook the building.
Peace fire sky, her mind translated automatically. A dragon's invocation to not attack each other. "Drem Yol Lok," she replied hoarsely, feeling the soft Words bind themselves around her and this dragon. "Paarthunax?"
"Niid. Tayfunvahzah – Tale-Told-True in your tongue." The dragon cocked his head. "Paarthunax is old and suns himself on the Monahven, the Throat of the World. I fly and speak because… the World-Eater will eat me anyway if you fail, Dovahkiin, so I might as well go all out and defy him openly."
Hadvar released his sword-hilt. "A choice with much honour, Tayfunvahzah," he said quietly.
"Indeed, Hah-Aav-Vah," agreed the dragon. "Your name in Dovahzul – the language of dragons – means 'Mind-Join/Unity-Spring'. Do you mind? It is easier to name you what you are than in the tongue of joorre – mortals."
The Quaestor shrugged. "Lia?"
"It fits," she said with a smile. "So, who am I?"
"Ah-Ree-Lah – Hunter-Essence-Magicka. Or perhaps Kah-Lah-Nah – Proud-Magicka-Fury." Tay tilted his long head. "You are at the cusp of choosing your name, malbriinah, little sister."
Interesting that 'Lah' – Magicka – is at the core of either name, Lia thought as she contemplated the choices before her. She knew, instinctively, that once she spoke her name – a Shout as all dovah names were – she would be defined by it forever more.
"Hadvar?" He knew her better than herself.
The Legionnaire tasted the names. "One is a mage's name," he finally observed. "The other a queen's name."
"I've never been a queen and never wanted to be," Lia said grimly. "I am Ah-Ree-Lah."
She'd seen what pride and fury could do – and wanted none of that.
"Drem Yol Lok, Ah-Ree-Lah," the little dovah said as he hopped down from the roof and nudged the door open. "I think you will find Aar-Nah-Gaar – Servant-Fury-Release – to be a little happier to speak to you."
They followed Tay inside and within the front hall awaited a stern old man in iron-grey robes edged with dyed hawk's feathers. "Drem Yol Lok," Lia repeated, wanting to show that she meant no ill towards the Greybeards.
"So, the Dragonborn is Bruniik – Akaviri – yet enters promising peace," the Greybeard observed dryly.
"Aar-Nah-Gaar, her path has been a long one," Tay said defensively. "She came not to the Voice through victory and power but through pain and sorrow."
"My name is Aurelia Callaina," Lia admitted quietly. "This is my betrothed Hadvar Bjornsson of Riverwood."
"The granddaughter of Arius Aurelius," the Greybeard said dourly. "You aren't the Dragonborn I'd want, but you're the one I have to live with. Drem Yol Lok, Ah-Ree-Lah. I am Master Arngeir."
"I'm not sure I'm the Dragonborn I want either," Lia noted with a flash of wry humour. "But I'm the one Akatosh decided to give the Voice to."
"You were born with a dragon's soul," Arngeir said softly. "Dragon's blood, descended from the bloodiest butcher and greatest hero of the Third Age. Talos was meant to be a King, the Lord of Men, but he chose to conquer all of Tamriel and laid the seeds for today's unrest."
"I suspect that meeting my clan – ronin Akaviri descendants of the Dragonguard – had something to do with it," Lia admitted starkly. "Give a man with a dragon's soul a group of minions who will do anything he commands and give a group of purposeless warriors a lord who will command anything – well, you can see what happened."
"Your words imply they corrupted each other. Interesting – we'll have to talk more about that." Arngeir's dour attitude lightened a little as three other men filed in. "But come, we must taste your Voice and begin your training."
Hadvar squeezed her hand again before letting her go and wisely sitting on the bench away from the Thu'um. Lia took a deep breath – this was going to be interesting.
…
Hadvar cradled his tankard of mead, listening to the cadences of Dovahzul as he had the lilt of Breton and the clipped phrases of Colovian, as Lia, Tay and Arngeir talked extensively about the morality of having a dragon's soul. She learned quickly – and he saw the flash of alarm in Arngeir's eyes. When she revealed that there was a Blade – Delphine, the old innkeeper at Riverwood – interfering at Ustengrav, the old man looked positively vinegary.
"Whether I like it or not, I'm going to have to enter the civil war," Lia concluded grimly. "Or at least wrangle a truce from those enthusiasts in the lowlands."
"The Bromjun of the Hofkahsejun that trapped Nuu-Miin-Nax will support you," Tay rumbled. "But there are others who will weave their webs around you, Ah-Ree-Lah. The Junsestum – the one your grandfather offended – would harry Keizaal to make it suffer as Sarodaal has. Ul-Frah-Ilik – Eternity-Fame-Chill – would bind your loyalty with the life of your mate."
"Son of a…" Lia cut off the softly breathed curse. "I swear, when this is done, I'm moving to Hammerfell."
"Even the Sahqomunne will have plans when they discover who you are," Tay observed gravely.
It took Hadvar to figure out who the dragon was referring to. "Are you telling me the Emperor's unleashing the Thalmor on Skyrim at the worst possible time?" he demanded. "And that Ulfric will try to take me as hostage?"
"Yes," Tay confirmed.
"When the Legion finds out about the one, they'll rebel," Hadvar predicted flatly. "Titus Mede's gone mad."
"Tullius isn't that stupid though," Lia observed. "Sure, the guy ruins his food with garum – fish sauce with pheasant, for fuck's sake! – but he won't try to pull that shit with Rikke as his second."
"You're a gourmet?" Arngeir asked in some surprise.
"I'm a Legion cook," Lia snapped. "Well, I was."
She rose to her feet in agitation. "Tay, I really hate to ask you this, but how much weight can you carry? If nothing else, I need you to get Hadvar to Solitude – the Legion will keep him safe for me."
Hadvar could kiss her for thinking of his safety above hers. Though he didn't understand why asking Tay to carry him was offensive.
"The Akaviri beat the red dragons of their homeland into submission and rode them as mounts," Arngeir explained, interpreting Hadvar's expression correctly.
"Indeed. Only one remains – Odahviing, the lieutenant of the World-Eater," Tay confirmed. "As for carrying a man, Ah-Ree-Lah, it would slow me down too much. I could carry you both down the mountain, but that is about it."
"I'll take what I can get, Tay," Lia said, scratching his eye ridge affectionately. "I'll give your name and description to Irileth so you can land on the Great Porch."
"Thank you." Tay was enjoying that scratch very much. "I am a very little dovah, but I can play catch-as-can with a big brute like Odahviing."
"You know what they say about size versus brains, excepting Hadvar here," Lia told him wryly before turning to Arngeir. "I'm still going to go through Ustengrav, Master. I respect the Greybeards' ways and the Way of the Voice."
"Thank you," the old man said gravely. "About this Delphine-"
"I'm a better mage than her," Lia said grimly. "I don't like the idea of killing my stepmother, who's probably the only Blade to keep the oath, but if she's trying to manipulate me – I may have no choice."
Her turquoise eyes were hard as diamonds. "I'm not going to be anyone's Second Coming of Talos."
"I'll stay with you as long as I can," Hadvar promised quietly.
She smiled at him gratefully. "I don't deserve you."
"Yeah, you do." Maybe it was arrogant of him, but Hadvar had loved Lia before anyone knew who she was.
"I hope you will speak only in true need," Arngeir observed quietly. "Look at Ulfric-"
"I have. And my mother's not much better." Lia sighed. "Look, can I go to bed? Tomorrow's going to be a bitch of a day."
"Of course, Dragonborn." Arngeir's face was still neutral. "Breath and focus."
"You too, Arngeir." Lia nodded and headed to the guest quarters. Hadvar nodded to the Greybeard and the dovah before joining her.
"You're not alone, love," he murmured as he hugged her.
"I know," she replied, resting her face against his shoulder. "Just… gods. I don't need the Sight of the Septims to know that there's a shitstorm of epic proportions brewing down there and it's centred on me."
He kissed her hair. "It's okay, love. We'll handle it together."
Especially once he got Rikke on his side. It was time that the Colovians remembered who made up most of the Legion's loyal soldiers.