Beta-read by BioFan.
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"Whether or not he is actually a deity remains in question, but the Alduin of Nord folklore is in fact a dragon, but one so ancient, and so powerful, he was dubbed the 'World Eater.'"
~The Alduin/Akatosh Dichotomy, Alexandre Simon, High Priest of the Akatosh Chantry, Wayrest
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The Dremora's name was Kathutet, a fact he grudgingly gave me since my calling him 'Dremora' (or 'Dremora-dear', if he was being especially caustic) irritated him. He proved uncommunicative from the moment I summoned him after leaving the Hall of the Vigilant until we stopped to pass the night in Whiterun. Getting answers out of him was like pulling poisoned barbs out of a wound—painful and laborious, with dubious results.
Well, I say 'we'—I stayed the night in Whiterun. He went back to Oblivion to await my next summons. I doubt he'd be grateful, but if I expected gratitude from a Dremora...well, I'm not that naive.
I slept badly. The nightmares were gone, replaced by…nothing. Nothing I remembered, leastways—and that unnerved me. I'd almost gotten used to disrupted or fitful sleep, so the return to normalcy made me leery.
"Lonely night?" Kathutet asked, once I'd exited Whiterun and called him to me. I figured it would be best not to parade around with a Dremora in tow. Not for the time being, anyway. There's no one I need to intimidate, and I find intimidation rarely works well.
"Quite dreamless, thank you for asking," I responded as blithely as I could. The polite too-innocent answer made his lip curl—which made me smirk. I think the fact that I don't get into insult-flinging matches irritates him more than anything else. I won't rise to his bait.
…though if I did, maybe we'd talk more. But what would we discuss? He's here against his will.
I frowned at the ring on my finger. I'd discovered, yesterday, that taking it off while he was present was impossible—not that I tried too hared. I was fidgeting with it, and discovered that it seemed to had adhered to my flesh; I'd be more likely to take the skin of my finger off first. This reinforced Azura's assertion that I should be careful with this 'help' to which I've been given access. I could just let him stew in Oblivion, away from me. We'd both be happier…
…but human curiosity being what it is…I feel better knowing where he is and being present if he's plotting. It would probably make his day to know I suffered this paranoia on his account.
We spent the better part of the journey between Whiterun and Riverwood in silence. Finally, as we took the southern split in the road, the Dremora demanded, "Where in this forsaken country are we going?"
"Helgen," I answered, "and from there the southern road to Falkreath, then home."
"And then?"
"And then what?" I asked, turning to look at him.
His expression was blank, but his air suggested I ought to know what was being asked of me.
"Then I'll do whatever Brother Killian decides or the Order requires," I answered.
"Brother?" Kathutet sneered, his Oblivionic steed checking under him. He'd made us walk that first day out of spite, but apparently he was not used to going long distances on foot. "Order?" I couldn't tell if that was surprise, gleeful anticipation, or disgust.
I meant to ask if he had a problem with the clerical orders before reminding myself he was a Dremora. Oblivionic in origin. Of course he'd have a problem with the clerical orders. Or, more accurately, their patrons. "Now why would such a pretty little thing want to go into such a dusty, musty vocation?" Kathutet asked, his voice smoother than usual, flattering, almost a purr.
My sense for danger flared at his change in tone. Fortunately, being a Dremora, he could only sound so persuasive. 'So persuasive' and no more. "Because I find it preferable to being a scholar," I answered, quite irritated by his tone—I've heard it before.
"And, may I inquire, which of those grim cloisters holds your chains?"
"I serve Arkay." Providing him information meant conversation, which was good. But part of me didn't like telling him things. I felt like I was handing him weapons.
"Hmph. Dibella would have suited better."
"Any particular reason?" I hoped the lightness of my tone would make it sound like a throwaway question, but I suspect this Dremora is very sharp.
"Beautiful women and dusty bones do not a good couple make," he answered, almost sententiously.
"And beautiful women and wicked Dremora do?" I asked frankly.
"I wouldn't know firsthand," came the testing response.
I laughed. The back my head and laughed. "Oblivion's teeth, you're tactless!"
Kathutet brought his steed parallel to mine, caught my horse's bridle and pulled the beast closer until our knees jostled. His lips peeled back from his teeth in a wicked smile that was a mix of threat and invitation—an uncomfortably interesting mix, to say the least. "I don't think you'd like me crafty," he answered quietly.
I smiled, leaned towards him, "I don't like you at all."
"Indeed? Are you so starved for company, then?" so might two crocodiles smile at one another, all the while plotting to tear one another to shreds. I've never had this sort of…well, I've never had this dynamic with anyone.
I heard Sister Prudence, the one who gave me 'the talk' when I began to look like a woman: don't let the interesting ones fool you, they'll always try to do you harm. Don't play their wicked games, or you'll be caught unawares!
"Says the Dremora trying to seduce the human. Howe does that look where you come from?" I wonder what his peers at the barracks would think of that. How is that seen on his side of Oblivion? Here, it would be considered deviant behavior in the extreme.
"Kyah!" Kathutet spat, letting go of my horse's bridle. It took a moment for me to realize that he was not angry, but that the expression was one of high amusement, as if he enjoyed baiting me and having me nip at his fingers in retaliation. "A fiery brat like you is wasted in your cloister and this frozen wasteland!"
"How better to keep me from setting the world on fire?" I asked innocently.
"Put you in a place where such spirit would be set at naught," came the rejoinder.
I chuckled at this, preferring the loosened lips to the stout silence of the trip thus far.
As it turned out, from what I could gather—Kathutet did not like to answer questions frankly—his experience with Skyrim was confined mostly to the snowy northeast and an occasional appearance in Whiterun. He did mention—or, rather, I weaseled it out of him—that he'd been bound for being a nuisance. He also made some rather nasty implications that that the one who sought the binding was female and did it out of spite and unexpressed frustration. '
I thought, though, that this sounded like spite at being rejected. He would say nothing more about her, to the point that he fell mutinously silent for a time, until I finally brought up a new, less irritating subject.
Someone apparently had an itch he couldn't scratch. I still find it odd that a Dremora would feel that way about a mortal woman. It's spite, to be sure, but still strange.
"Helgen is just up that…" I stopped. "Did you hear that?" I asked, looking skyward as my horse pranced nervously, ears working furiously.
"Yes." Kathutet stood up in his stirrups, his travelling clothes turning to smoke before coalescing into armor. "We should keep moving." His mount, which looked much like a normal horse, except around its fiery eyes, snorted. Then it stamped its feet and swished its goat-like tail, his tack, also augmenting for war, jingling in dire warning.
I flexed my hand. The sound again: a sort of roaring, like the high winds of a great storm.
Wind, like a wall, hit us as a shadow swooped past. The gust pulled my attention, tugging my hair and clothes, in the direction of the source: a dark shape that…could not be…
"That's…it can't…" I gaped like a simpleton.
"Dagon's fangs," Kathutet swore softly, looking as openly shocked as I was. "They're dead. They're all dead…"
The dragon—for that was what it was—wheeled to the right, giving us a perfect view of its long, monstrous body, sinuous as it moved through the air. Even at speed, even at this distance, it was ugly, black as night, clearly ridged and bony, its leathery wings fully unfurled as it rode Kyne's winds with a vicious joy of being in motion, unchained, unfettered. It screamed again, sending a blast of fire along as it made a beeline towards Helgen.
I kicked my horse, but Kathutet shot out a hand to stop me. "What are you doing, fool?" he snarled, his grip on my arm painfully tight, the clawed fingers of his gauntlet digging into my flesh.
"What does it look like? I'm going—"
Kathutet hissed at me, "You intend to fight a dragon? How?"
"From the ground with magicka," I answered, pulling free of him and sending my horse edging away from him as he reined his in to follow. "What do you care, either way?"
"I don't," he answered, and cast an ugly look at the ring on my hand.
"…you're obliged to help, aren't you?"
He snorted, then seeming to reflect, answered, "I am obliged to offer you advice should it be demanded…or volunteer it, should I see fit." His tone said he didn't intend to volunteer anything.
"You're stalling," I answered sharply.
"You said I had no tact. Who am I to argue?" he retorted sneeringly.
"I'm not going to fight a dragon," I answered, "I'm going to see if I can't help the people stuck on the other end of his breath and claws!"
I'd be lying if I said I wanted to kick my horse to a gallop, to charge towards Helgen at a mad rate. I wanted to go the other way, but my duty is clear…and I wouldn't be able to sleep at night if I just walked away, slunk away. I walked away from something that was—probably—my job, once. I will never do it again.
It's not worth the sleepless nights, the round and around conversations.
Smoke began to rise from Helgen's approximate position, the dragon circling and menacing it before shooting away.
The attack took less time than it took for Kathutet and I to arrive at the straightaway leading to the back of the village.
The whole village seemed to be burning: towers I knew had to be there were gone, the palisade wall that offered it some small protection from bandits and wild beasts blazed like the very gates of Oblivion itself. Portions of that same palisade wall sagged, marked by deep scores as if the dragon had landed, his hind feet sinking into the timber as he flapped for balance.
Smoke and the smell of crisping meat, of burning stone assailed my nostrils as the wind picked up again, bringing another, distant, shriek of dragon laughter from somewhere out of sight.
The dragon howled on the wind, a cold sound that raised gooseflesh along every inch of my body. I caught a quick glimpse of him before he vanished, arrowing towards Riverwood with a speed no horse could match.
Divines be with them if that monster strikes…
"Be mindful!" a voice, deep, with the local Whiterun tang, called.
I followed the sound on horseback, painfully aware that no screams came from within the blazing pyre that used to be a town.
I knew people there…good people.
I found two travelers emerging from a partly-concealed cavern entrance. The man was big and blonde, a 'true son of Skyrim' to judge by his tattered, travel stained clothes. The blue blazon hanging from his shoulder was almost grey. His wrists had shackles around them like bracelets, and the ghost of a bruise showed as a dark shadow under his left cheekbone. His thick blond hair was partly braided—I thought it might be to keep his hair out of his eyes, eyes as clear a shade of grey as bright-cloudy mornings, almost silver.
With him was a woman, so unlike him in appearance that I had to squint at her. She was no Stormcloak, though her face was bloody all down one side. From head to toe, she spoke of means and breeding: her brown hair coiled at the base of her neck, caught in a copper and amber-beaded net. Her clothes were well cut, in shades of brown that brought out golden undertones in her skin. Her eyes were a clear blue-grey, almost the same color the Stormcloaks like to sport.
"Arkay's blessing on you both," I called, jumping from my horse and tossing the reins to Kathutet. He'd drawn a bow I didn't know he had, an arrow fitted loosely to the string. He frowned, but caught my horse's reins before the creature could run away.
Both young people—close to my own age, I think—froze, but relaxed at the invocation of one of the Eight. "Are you hurt?" I demanded, looking at the young woman's bloody face.
She reached up, touched the sticky mess as if she hadn't had time to think about the state of her skin. She, too, wore shackles, the chain between broken by some powerful force. "It's not mine…"
Shock. She's in shock.
I took her hands in mine, found them cold. With a deep breath, I reached out, magicka welling up in me. She took a deep breath, as one waking from an unpleasant sleep, as the spell to revive and revitalize seeped into her. Her pupils grew larger, and she began to shake. "That-that was a dragon," she declared, looking as though she would like to scream hysterically…but knowing it would do no good.
"Yes," I agreed. I wanted to sit down and cover my face in my arms until the world righted itself…but just as she did not give not her hysteria, I refused to give in to denial.
Legends don't burn down villages.
"You, are you hurt?" I demanded.
"No, I'm fine," came the lad's staunch answer. I doubt he would have admitted to being hurt unless his guts were falling out of his belly. "That monster was heading for Riverwood. They have to have word." And it was clear he expected me to do it.
I didn't point out that I can't beat the thing to Riverwood. Then again, I can't beat it to Whiterun, either. "As does Whiterun," I agreed. Riverwood is on the way. I looked at my horse, knowing I couldn't gallop him all the way to Riverwood, let alone to Whiterun. I turned to Kathutet. "You're a soldier." Sort of. "Any advice?" I'm not ashamed to ask questions when I'm out of my depth.
Kathutet seemed caught between answering me and not. Finally, he snarled, "Give them your horse," and jumped down from his own mount. He dragged my poor beast towards the two refugees. Both of them gave ground, the Stormcloak moving gallantly to shield her. Whether she recognized this for what it was or not, she didn't argue. Then again, nothing about her seems particularly martial. "Mine won't carry two, but I have…another means." He sounded resigned, though whether to aiding me in being a decent person or because he didn't like the idea of waiting around here, I don't know.
I took my horse, brought him over to the lad. "Where can I find him?" I asked.
"I'll take him and the girl to Riverwood. My sister owns the mill there," he answered. He glanced back. "Has no one else come out?"
"None that I've seen," I answered. "Leave him in Riverwood. Or Whiterun, if that lies on your way. I'll collect him later. Your name?"
"Ralof," he answered stoutly before turning the horse. He hovered, as though unsure whether the Imperial could get into the saddle on her own. She surprised him, though, by putting a foot in the stirrup and hiking herself onto the beast's back in a comfortable, practiced manner. She looked down, shifting forward into the saddle so Ralof could climb up behind her. From her seat on the horse's back, it was obvious she was a trained rider.
I turned to find Kathutet walking a circle, his head bowed, his horse gone. He spoke one word, Daedric magicka sizzling in the air, acidic against my senses. Suddenly, in the wake of the spell, a heavy war chariot appeared, wrought as intricately as his armor. Splashes of red and gold paint spattered it, though I suspected these 'spatters' were actually painted signs, honors perhaps, that would make sense to another of his kind. He waved a hand and two smaller daedra appeared. Lizard-like with bony head frills and sharp beaks, they sniffed around, greedy eyes fixing on we tender humans.
Through all this, his face remained scrunched, as if the work he did were gruelling. Perhaps it was, pulling more of his own kind to a realm mostly sealed off from them.
He briskly fastened them into the harnesses of the chariot, then climbed up into the vehicle, waiting with pointed impatience as he directed the daedra to turned the heavy chariot in the appropriate direction. "I hope you're half the mage you think you are. Fighting a dragon on the ground," he growled as his draft beasts jittered, waiting for the command to pull.
I stepped up beside him, didn't protest when he threw an arm around my shoulders, so I stood almost in front of him. I've never been in one of these contraptions before, though I've seen the mortal equivalents in sketches. I never considered Daedra needing to cover ground like this.
It raised the question of how Dremora occupy their time. Surely they don't just brace eternally for war, waiting for one that will never come?
He spat something that sounded vulgar, but the two daedra hitched to the chariot strained, pulled, then began to run, hauling their load with increasing speed. Their labored breath washed back to me in a rank cloud smelling of rotten meat and foul daedra breath as I braced myself as best I could. If Kathutet hadn't been supporting me, I'd probably had ended up sitting on the floor with my eyes closed. As it was, I couldn't fall without knocking into him, and he had the balance and practice required to have no difficulties.
It was clear he didn't worry about foundering his beasts. Since he didn't worry…I didn't either.
A dragon whipping about the skies of Whiterun…that needs all I can muster to mull over.
A dragon!
My hands began to shake, then the rest of me. Dragons…they've…if I couldn't smell the smoke, hadn't seen the fires…hadn't heard it on the wind…
"If you're going to be sick, have the grace to do it over the side," came Kathutet's scathing command. "And you wanted to fight it. On the ground."
"What would you have done?" I demanded, nettled.
"I would be halfway to the capital of this frozen wasteland to tell your leadership of the problem. I would not bother warning every little hamlet along the way," he retorted.
"There's a problem with that brilliant plan," I snapped back, "our leadership is somewhat a contested thing!"
"Contested how?"
I grunted morosely. "Nords to the east, Empire to the northwest and new battle-lines being drawn up all the time!"
"Then you'll have your work cut out for you, won't you?"
"Who says I'll be handling this?" I demanded sharply. I'm just bringing word, after all.
Kathutet laughed, a sound that grated on my raw nerves. Inf act, you'd think I'd told the funniest joke he'd ever heard in his life. "Because you had to go open your mouth and volunteer for the first step! Volunteer once and they'll never let you stop volunteering!"
