Chapter 12. Wolf and Dragon

It was cold inside. Milly was still drenched to the bone and had left her cloak on the fields. She tried her best not to shiver, for every sound she made seemed to echo over the distance of a mile.

There were corpses, and lots of them. The first she found was in the entrance hall, when she couldn't help a loud yelp from escaping. They were not fresh and bloody, like the bodies outside on the field, but dried and decayed, with the appearance of being centuries old.

There was something strange about the bodies, though. What were they doing on the floors? Wasn't this a grave? Shouldn't they be in coffins? She saw loads of them, too, emptied and broken. Were they raided by robbers, ages ago? Had they left the bodies to rot when they had taken the valuables? But then, there were enough bodies that seemed to possess their riches, like ancient armours and swords, and jewels and helmets. If they were robbed, wouldn't the robbers have taken those along, too?

She stepped over them with care, not wanting to touch any part of their dried appearance. Once or twice, she could swear she saw a blue gleam coming from the eye socket, but that was not possible, was it? She must be getting paranoid.

She didn't stumble upon any resistance. These tunnels really must have been deserted for decades. Milly calmed from her hysterics when she found nothing for a while, no corpses, no bodies.

And then, just around the next corner, her heart dropped. A large shadow, lit on the outlines by fire. She shrieked and jumped back, pulling the dagger from her waist. At the same time, the figure yelled as well and steadied himself, pointing a sword at her.

Milly and Farkas blinked at each other, dumbstruck.

"Milly?" Farkas said in a rushed whisper. "What are you doing here?" And then, after a moment's consideration, added, "What has happened to you?"

A lump formed in Milly's throat. She was so immensely glad that there was a familiar face gazing at her, a friendly face, one that didn't mean her harm. She was rooted to her spot, staring at Farkas' concerned face, at a loss for words.

How could she explain what had just happened, outside? Did she want to tell what happened? It suddenly seemed so personal, something you just didn't tell anyone.

Farkas sat her down on the big urn where he had just been sitting, resting.

"You didn't walk very quickly," she said at last. "If you're still only here." Looking up at his face, she couldn't help herself. "I am so pleased to see you." Relief.

"You didn't see the bodies?" Farkas asked in wonder. "I had to kill to find my way."

"Those age-old corpses?" Milly replied. "You killed them? But – but they were dead already. For centuries, if you ask me."

Farkas grimaced. "I don't know how. Magic, most likely. They are awoken, living dead. They guard their graves." He seemed to find this an uninteresting topic, however, and continued, in his own honesty-calm way. "What happened to you? You looked like you had to fight your way, yourself."

Milly told briefly what happened, but didn't say anything about what Jorn wanted to do. She made it sound like a normal battle.

"So you have to go back," she ended. "There are more of them, and they are waiting for you. We should leave, now we still can."

Farkas let the story sink in. Then he looked down at Milly. "You killed three people?"

"I... Yes," she stated. "Two with fire, and the last one... the last one I stabbed." She procured the dagger from her waist and held it up. "It's really quite sharp."

"Are you alright?" Farkas asked, true concern in his eyes. The torch he was holding threw shadows over his face, making him look alive, but also, in some way, feral. He wedged it between stones on the floor and knelt down in front of her.

Milly wanted to reply that she was, but then image of Jorn came in her mind, groping, licking, and setting his teeth in her flesh in those horrible moments when she couldn't move, and thought she was going to die a horrible death.

"Farkas, I'm scared," she said before she could help herself. She stared up at him, her eyes big in fear.

Farkas leaned closer, then hugged her. The gesture surprised her, as did the gentleness of it. He wasn't squishy because of the plate armour he wore, but he didn't press her too hard. She wrapped her arms around him and buried herself in his neck. He didn't seem to care that her clothing and hair were still very much damp.

It was pleasant. She didn't have to cry, but it was comforting to have someone pat her hair and shush her. They stayed like this for several moments, Milly sitting on the urn, and Farkas, kneeled, holding her, his hands tangled in her freed hair.

"We have to go on," he said gently as he released her. "We don't know how many others there are, but I do have a good idea who they are. And we're on a mission. We cannot abandon a mission."

"But," Milly started to protest.

"They could also be following us," Farkas replied, interrupting her. It was unlike him to interrupt anyone. "There could be more following us than waiting for us. We have to go on."

Farkas' loyalty for his mission was too strong, so there was nothing for it but to continue. Around the next corner, they stumbled into a large hall with a high ceiling. There was a dais to their right, on which there stood two large, stone chairs.

"I thought this was a grave, something like catacombs?" Milly said in wonder. "Then what is a throne room doing in a catacomb?"

It was a grand hall, but in forgotten glory. The walls were painted beautifully with fragments of long forgotten stories, the colours still bright with the absence of light. Facing the thrones was a platform that seemed overloaded with riches. There was a chest with coins and goblets and jewels, and a ceremonial armour was carefully laid out on the carved altar, a ceremonial, bejewelled sword laying across the chest plate.

"I think this entire room is like a monument," she hypothesised. "The bodies that are buried here must be royalty, or Jarls. It's all symbolic to give the spirits a fitting place to linger before they went on."

There was an air vent somewhere in the room, through which water had seeped through. Several fungi were growing at the edges of the dais and moss and lichen coated the stones.

Farkas was observing the treasure while Milly had more eye for the wall paintings.

"Strange that everything is still left," Farkas said, as he let his hand flow through the gold and let the coins ring.

"You're not planning on taking it, are you?" Milly asked, nervous. She never considered herself very religious or spiritual, but the thought of taking this treasure repelled her.

Farkas held up a coin and she took it, if only to look at it. It was beautiful, with an interesting face and figures stamped in the gold. These were age-old, valuable, not just in money, but historical as well. And there it was, as she eyed the gold, as she eyed the golden jewels. She was never a vain person, didn't care much for owning pretty things as they were so costly, but suddenly she was tempted with the very things. She wouldn't need to buy them, she could just take them. Nobody would know about it... There was nobody alive to whom they belonged...

She took a golden mirror, inset by pearls. Her mother used to have a set just like this. Her reflection wasn't the most agreeable on the moment, very pale with a swollen lip, a few small cuts and hair that was untidy as it had been when she just escaped Helgen. Hastily, she put it back, scared of her own greed.

Farkas looked at her, unimpressed. "I'm going to take some of the gold. It's ours," he said calmly. "If the owners are long dead and nobody has claimed it for years, you're allowed to take it."

"As long as you don't take that sword or armour," Milly said, indicating the ceremonial set at the altar. It gleamed silver in the combined light of Farkas' torch and Milly's orb.

"I wasn't planning to," Farkas replied, unease in his voice.

In the end, Milly couldn't resist taking a few of the coins. For historical value, she told herself. She couldn't quite make up an excuse for why she took one of the with rubies inlaid necklaces, other than that she hadn't taken the most expensive one with diamonds. It was just one necklace. What was the harm in taking it?

As they wanted to continue, they found their way obscured by a tall iron gate.

"Well, that's unfortunate," Milly said as she began to look around for some way to lift it. Farkas, being strong as he was, tried to see if he could move the gate upwards by mere force. He didn't seem to succeed.

"I found a lever!" Milly called as she walked into one of the dark alcoves of the room. On a pedestal she found a lever. And if not for lifting that gate, then what could it be for?

A rumbling noise emerged from the very rocks, startling both her and Farkas, and there, with the sound of thunder, a huge iron gate came crashing down. And there Milly stood, staring in front of her, where the alcove had been sealed off by the gate. She might as well have been standing in a prison cell.

"The gate is up!" Farkas called, and she heard his footsteps walked toward her. "What did you...? Oh," he muttered as he saw her standing there.

"It must be a clever trap," Milly replied, turning back to the lever again. "This lever lifts the gate to continue, but traps you inside." She wanted to lift the lever, so she could figure out how to solve this without the feeling of being trapped in a cell. But then, as she grabbed the lever in both hands, it didn't move an inch. She pulled on it with all her force. It had moved so easily to this side, now why didn't it move back?

Just when she started to feel panicked, she heard yelps and cries from behind her, and the sound of ringing steel as Farkas pulled his sword from his sheath.

She turned around, and through the bars, she saw five people emerging from the newly opened passageway. All of them were holding gleaming weapons, blades and maces and a warhammer, and a few sported torches.

"It's time to die, dog," one of them called as they surrounded Farkas. His huge broadsword suddenly seemed no match to the combined opposing force. "We knew you were coming here, and it seems we weren't wrong, were we?"

"Your fault, Companion," another one added. Why was there so much hatred in their voice? "How do you feel, knowing you are about to die?"

"A dog to slay and then a cat for dessert," a third said, his eyes on Milly behind the bars. "It must be my birthday."

"And which ones do we have?" the only woman asked, sounding more curious than loathing.

The first man answered. "It hardly matters. He wears their armour, so they'll die."

"Killing you would make for an excellent story," the woman concluded.

And still, even in facing five enemies, Farkas seemed as calm as ever. The tone of his reply was almost peaceful, as he was making kind conversation. "None of you will be alive to tell it."

And there, he did a very stupid thing. Or that was what it seemed like, at first. Farkas threw his sword aside, slipped the pack of his back, rendering himself defenceless. Was he planning on taking these men bare-handed?

"Farkas, no!" she cried, as the first man charged.

But, before the man was near enough, something odd happened. Farkas doubled over, and while he was doing that, a loud growl seemed to escape from deep in his throat. He was standing close to her gate, and softly, she could hear the sound of bones snapping.

And Farkas was changing. His back arched, beyond human capabilities, and he was growing. The leather snaps of his chest plate broke, and his armour fell to the floor. His clothes ripped, and instead of showing bare skin, dark fur emerged. It covered his entire body and his head, which had distorted and grown into a snout.

In the span of a second, Farkas had very much became a wolf, standing on its hind legs, eight feet tall and growling.

It charged before the man had reached him. It slammed against the body, clawed at the face. Its jaw snapped. And there, the other four attacked all at the same time. The wolf swirled around, hitting, slamming and biting and the few hits of the weapons that came through his defences didn't seem to slow him down. Bones broke, blood spilled and screams pierced the air.

It was over so quickly. The wolf stood between the mangled bodies of his attackers, observing if all of them were indeed perished. The torched had dropped to the floor, but they were still burning, illuminating the room with a bright red glow. Then the beast turned around to look at Milly.

She was paralysed, leaning against the pedestal of the lever and staring at the scene behind the bars. She was glad the bars were between them, or the wolf might have charged her. But the yellow eyes of the beast weren't menacing. They were as gentle and concerned as one could possibly describe wolves' eyes.

Then, the wolf turned around and sped away.

She wanted to call after it, pleading it to return and not leave her behind with the wreckage of the corpses so close to her. Because the wolf was Farkas, it wasn't just a beast... Was it? It was a werewolf, a man-turned-wolf, a man that was her friend.

The gate lifted. She had sagged on the floor.

Farkas returned, back to normal again. He was wrapped in a large mantle and he was limping just a bit. He kept his distance from her.

"Are you – are you okay?" he asked. He seemed concerned and scared at the same time.

Milly looked up and was at a complete loss for words.

"Here," Farkas offered, and only half-realising it, he pulled her to her feet and led her over to the two thrones, setting her down on one. "I'll be right back." He turned to the side, to where he had dropped his pack.

It took Milly a few more moment to realise and comprehend what had happened. She turned around to see where Farkas had gone to, and found him with his back to her, pulling on a pair of breeches from his pack.

"Are – are you okay?" she asked instead, as she eyed the red gashes on his back. His back was pale skin again, devoid of fur.

"Nothing one of your little potions can't heal," he replied, grabbing a bottle and pouring it down his throat. He walked back to her, a look of concern back on his face. "Did I startle you? I hope I didn't scare you. I'm so sorry... I didn't mean to..." His voice faltered.

"You didn't mean to tell me?" Milly replied, and suddenly she felt more indignant than scared. "You – you could have told me. Earlier. I might have understood."

Farkas seemed alarmed. "No, you don't understand. This is not just me. It's... All of us. In the Circle. It's a blessing, giving to some of us. We can become like wild beast... Fearsome. Powerful."

"All of you?" Milly repeated, her tone a little shrill. "You mean to say, you're not the only one? Vilkas... And Aela, and Skjor, and Kodlak too."

"Yes," Farkas replied, and he almost seemed ashamed. "I had wanted to tell you, but the others didn't want to. We couldn't know how you might react."

He was staring up at her, expectant, to see how indeed she would react.

"It... explains a lot," she said, staring overhead. "These bandits want to kill you, because they know you are werewolves. That's why they have silver weapons. That's why you didn't want to take the silver armour and ceremonial sword. She stared at the altar in front of her at the far end of the room, and her eye fell on the scene of slaughter in front of it. The bodies looked horrible. Some of them were mangled beyond recognition, where wolf-Farkas had bit them in the head or the guts. She didn't want to look at the bloody mass that sprawled around them. She felt immensely tired, all of a sudden.

"You should stop calling new members whelps. If you don't want others to know, that is. I thought it was just a reference to the wolf head on your armour, but now that suddenly makes sense, too. You might want omit anything that reminds of wolves."

Farkas had a half-smile on his mouth.

"You want to know if I approve?" Milly asked, guessing the look on his face. "I'm... not sure," she said hesitantly. "You still are a respectable group of... mercenaries, by lack of a better word. You never seem to slay anyone, or you are very good at covering up and keeping people silent. You're not – are you?"

"We never kill for fun," Farkas replied, just a bit more stress than usually in his voice. "We only kill to defend, never to attack innocents. Our werewolf forms are like a weapon to us."

"And what if the moons are full?" she asked. "You seemed to be in control now, but are you in full control under the influence of the moons as well?"

"We make sure we are well away from innocents," Farkas replied. "We have a safe place to hide and wait for the dawn."

"Did – did you want this?" Milly blurted.

Farkas looked away. "It was just what happened. Everyone in the Circle has been a werewolf for over ages. When we became part of the Circle, it was the thing that had to be done."

She wanted to ask if he ever regretted it, but it seemed too personal, too prying. She swallowed her words.

"Well... It did seem to save you there," she said instead. "But, if you had not been a werewolf in the first place, you might not have required to safe yourself – a beautiful paradox. I don't think we should linger here. We don't know if there are more. Let's grab that fragment of yours and let's go." She sighed. "The horses bolted, as I told you, so we would have to walk back." A pause. "I don't know about you, but this place is giving me chills."

A touch on her face made her look back to Farkas. He had his hand outstretched, stroking her cheek. There was a tender expression on his face as he gazed at her, and the intention, together with the gesture, startled her. The touch was gentle, soft, and she could hardly believe a warrior such as Farkas was capable of such a touch, had she not known his gentle nature. Her heart skipped a beat at his silver eyes, and suddenly she was nervous, and very much aware that Farkas was only dressed in breeches.

Farkas showed his hand. On the tip of his fingers, where he had touched her face, was blood. She blinked at it. It must have splattered on there through the bars.

And then, perhaps because he realised the change in air, Farkas became nervous too. It was odd to see a man so muscular – with a bare chest that was – faltering. For a moment she thought she preferred a more slender chest like Ralof's.

"I – eh..." he stammered. "I didn't think you wanted blood on your face." He looked at his fingers as if to accuse them of doing something inappropriate. "I should find something more to wear."

And while he rummaged back in his pack to find more clothes, Milly wondered for the first time if there was room for love in a Companion's life. Could they marry, if they wanted? So far as she knew, none of them were. She had also never noticed anyone bringing lovers along, unless they had their lovers among themselves. An involuntary image of Aela and Vilkas flashed through her mind.

It wasn't as if she fancied Farkas. The thought was quite silly – he was a friend, perhaps like a brother, but she harboured no romantic feelings at all. Then she wondered if Farkas felt the same about her. What kind of gaze had she seen in his eyes, moments earlier? And what if he did fancy her? She never had to deal with anyone fancying her before either in Mournhold or during her short stay in Cheydinhal – the feeling mutual or not. What must she do in such circumstances?

She halted her thought. Wasn't she being extremely vain all of a sudden? Just because Ralof seemed to have liked her in some sort of way didn't mean every man suddenly had feelings for her. Oh, her arrogance, the shame! How could she have thought these things?

She twiddled the ring around her finger as Farkas was finished dressing himself. The problem was however, that he was now only wearing daily clothes. His armour had been broken when he transformed.

"I don't like doing this, but there's nothing else to it," Farkas sighed listlessly as he moved to one of the corpses. The man had been wearing steel armour that was, besides being bloody, still whole. He began to strap the chest plate from the unfortunate previous owner, whose face was hardly a face anymore.

Milly helped him in the thing. It was ill-fitting and she needed to set all the clasps the widest they would allow. Farkas was too broad for it, but there was nothing else to it. It was this, or going about in his shirt. Farkas twitched a bit, and he claimed it was because silver weapons left internal would that took a little more time to heal.

"I wish there was anything you could wear," Farkas said, observing Milly's ragged clothes. The rope had sagged and the vest and blouse were hanging a little loose, showing parts of the band underneath, showing a rather indecent amount of skin, but Milly hadn't the energy to care much about it. She had been awake since the middle of the night when she took watch. She wanted nothing more than to sag down on the throne, sacrilege as it probably was or not, and rest some more.

"I'm wearing clothes, that you very much," she replied. "I'm afraid there's no change I'll wriggle myself in that."

The woman had been wearing leathers and much of what was supposed to be her insides, were outside on the floor next to her. The leather armour was ripped and just plainly destroyed in the region of her abdomen, too much to be any use if she somehow managed to clean it. In her fatigue, Milly only felt a bit apprehension at the bloodied sight.

Her voice was bitter, and Farkas recoiled slightly as she helped with the last item, the left pauldron.

"I'm sorry you had to see all of this," Farkas replied in earnest apology, his voice softer than it was usually.

"Nah, it's okay." She had to force her voice to sound pleasant. None of this was Farkas' fault, and she shouldn't blame him for it. "And even if there was some clean well-fitting armour around, I doubt I'd be able to move much in it."

Both of them were glad to leave the room, to continue onwards. Farkas pointed to the lever that he used to lift the gate that trapped her, hidden in a dark shadowy corner. He had seen these types of constructions in more places. He suggested that they tried to sneak as silently as they could through the passages. If there were any more of the Draugr that were still slumbering, maybe they could avoid having to fight them.

The corridors were long and winding, with stairs and rooms and sometimes it was hard to navigate for the right way, or to the room that led to the fragment, if it indeed was there. She could feel the eerie presence of the bodies, slumbering in niches in the catacombs, and she could just imagine them raising, clutching the swords that were folded over their chests, attacking them. It wasn't a sight she wanted to see in real life, so she followed Farkas in silence.

The corridors were unpleasantly cold and Milly wished she had a cloak – any cloak, even one of the bloodied ones would do. It was an endless trip, and with every corner she felt closer to desperation. They had taken a short break to nibble from the dried fruits and nuts Farkas had taken along, and drank water from the skin, but it wasn't quite a full meal. They had more, but as they couldn't foresee how much longer they needed to go, it was better to save something.

When her desperation was close to overflowing, they came into another large high-ceilinged room. It was decorated quite unlike the other room, with most of the painting on the ceiling instead of the walls, and showed intricate designs of constellations and their stories. Against the wall here, were numerous coffins standing upright, dark and ominous.

And there, almost against her predication, stood a pedestal at the far end of the hall. Behind it was an intricate piece of stone carving in a half-circle.

"This is it," Farkas said, without telling how he knew it as he walked to the far end. And indeed, on the pedestal, as in an offer, lay a rather dull piece of metal.

"This is it?" Milly repeated, a bit disappointed. She had imagined something legendary, something that told of the remarkable history of the ancient axe, but in the end, it was just a piece of metal. "Well, this is just great. Take it and we can continue onward, if we ever make it out of this place."

Her fear, anxiety and fatigue had made her snappy. Even if they had the damned piece of metal, they still needed to find their way out of this forsaken place.

"This must be treated with respect," Farkas spoke, reverence in his voice. He slipped the pack from his back and rummaged in it to find the special box he had taken along for the purpose of transporting the piece.

Milly, inpatiently, turned around to stare at the curved wall. Instead of depicting a story with carved figurines, as she had expected, there was a wall of text. It was a strange language, something she didn't recognise. There was something about it, something that made her forget any fear and annoyance instantly and turned it to curiousity.

What was written here? What did it say?

"Do you hear the humming?" she asked as she walked closer. She couldn't quite describe the sound, but it seemed to reverberate from within in.

"What humming?" Farkas repeated, too busy with his fragment to care much for other things. He was holding an actual piece of Wuutrad, the axe that Ysgramor himself had carried!

Milly in her turn, could only care for the wall. There was one word that seemed to light up and she drawn toward it. The humming voices swelled, reaching a crescendo – there was a feeling, a feeling of wind while there was no movement of air, a sensation overcame her, so rough and pure it seemed to made of the life essence of the world – the voices grew louder – and the word quite literally lit up as all else faded to darkness...

A dragon. A dragon was breathing fire down over a village. But it wasn't simple roaring that the dragon did – it was speaking, and she could hear it speaking. Yol.

Lodunost, that was the name of the dragon. And there – the small figure in front of him, he was wearing a crown. A king, but he seemed so young. Jafnhar, the king was called, but she did not know how she knew. He was holding a shield, trying to block himself from the roaring fire breath of Lodunost. His other arm was bleeding and limp, but he still held onto a magnificent sword, that rung with enchantment. But the sword was of no use, the dragon was flying. Jafnhar skipped back, but then he tripped over a stone.

Other people were around, firing arrows at the large silver dragon, that talked even louder in fury. Yol. The fire was too much for the young king, he succumbed to the heat, the dry grasses around him catching flame. Lodunost turned to the other people attacking him, their arrows piercing through his hardened skin. He couldn't hold this for long – the dragon would die – the breathed fire for a last time, Yol, long and deadly and set fire to a tall fir tree. Then, the beast fell down and with a roaring quake, the earth shook. The dragon was dead.


It was cold. That was the first thing Milly noticed before she opened her eyes. The chill was accompanied by a feeling of wetness. She opened her eyes to have raindrops falling in it. She was wrapped in heavy blankets that weighted her down.

As she sat, she noticed they weren't blankets but oilskins, to try and keep the rain from soaking through everything. They hadn't done much and the chill seemed to be in her very bones.

"Are you okay now?" Farkas asked, somewhere to her right. She looked up and saw him sitting to a rock, huddled in oilskins and furs of himself. The wet furs emitted the overwhelming stench of wet animal, but it was something that might warm them a bit.

"What happened?" Milly asked. While she felt strangely restored, there were gaps in her memories. She remembered a tall room with a painted ceiling, but not much afterwards.

"You collapsed," Farkas replied. He grimaced, but whether it was because of the memory or the nasty weather, she couldn't tell. "You said something about a humming noise while I was busy with the shard, not long before you fell to the floor."

Milly remembered the wall again, the strange text, and the vision that had come to her mind.

Yol.

"And then, when I had put the shard away," Farkas continued, "all of the corpses in the room came alive. I killed them again, but you were still on the floor, unconscious. Even after the Draugr were dead, you wouldn't wake. I carried you and it seemed we were close to the exit. Outside again, I found the packs that the Silver Hand had left, and took them and you away from the place. I didn't want to stay too close."

Farkas' usual kind tone was stony, but she didn't blame him.

"I'm sorry," she said in a small voice. "I don't know what happened."

"Must have been fatigue," came the reply, a little kinder now. "Too much impressions."

"Yeah," she said slowly. "Something like that."

She didn't want to explain what had happened. She didn't fully understand it yet, but he had some suspicions that she didn't like at all. And whatever it was, it was something she didn't want to reveal too lightly.

"Thank you," she added. "For carrying me here. I figure you must have been quite tired yourself."

"It's okay."

"How long have I been sleeping?" Milly wondered.

"It's the next morning now."

They shared a meal of sodden bread and wet strips of jerky and apples. The horses had bolted, and the only thing they could do was gather what they wanted to take and start walking. Because of the tall mountains, it was quite easy to navigate the direction of Whiterun. They left the feet of the mountains with fit trees and rocky landscape behind them and headed to the grassy hills of the tundra.

They walked in silence, Farkas in front and Milly following him, both cold. Every once in a while Farkas glanced behind him to see if Milly was still catching up. She kept a steady distance behind. Both were having difficulty dragging their boots through the sodden grass and mud.

At least they didn't came upon any wolf or bandit or giant. Nothing wanted to be outside in this weather.

At least, that is what they thought when they heard a strange roar in the distance. They looked up and their hearts sank. After the previous day, their luck seemed to falter them still.

Above them, circling the hills, was the outline of an enormous dragon in the rain. Its body was sliding through the rainy skies so smooth, it didn't seem to have any problem with the weather.

Alarmed, they looked around, but all they saw were hills. No place to hide.

"I think it already saw us," Milly said, her voice loud to overcome the roaring beast.

And indeed, the beast was circling over them in closer and closer circles, and lost height. As the dragon in Helgen was black, this one was white as snow. As it flew over them, they could just admire the spikes the covered its body.

"What do we do?" Milly called. There was no chance they could outrun the beast.

"We fight!" Farkas replied.

They didn't have a choice. They dropped their heavy packs so they could move more nimbly. Farkas drew his sword, the metallic sound hardly audible over the roar.

The dragon swooped down, low, opened his mouth, and out it came not fire, but ice. Both of them could avoid the icicles, but the cold emitted from the dragon itself and seemed to turn the rain to icy needles.

In the next swoop, Farkas raised his sword, cutting in the belly of the beast. It roared, but the wound was hardly severe.

Milly stared at the beast, rooted to the spot, and was amazed as the dragon above her moved in patterns that she could see and predict. The cold was intense. It was so intense that it almost incapacitated them, had they not have the sheer willpower to live and survive. Their skins were soon bloody from the sharp icicles raining down on them.

And then the dragon landed, and the earth shook. Milly could only just hold her footing. But as she will still busy keeping balance, Farkas was already running to the beast, his sword held high. He rammed the weapon in the neck of the dragon and it roared, sending up icicles in the air.

Milly wanted to scream as she knew what was about to happen. Farkas wanted to pull his sword out, but it had stuck, and he didn't see the tail whipping behind him, slamming his back. With a cry, he fell forward, and Milly couldn't see him through the grass.

"You." The dragon leaped over Farkas and headed straight to Milly. "We were told there was only one."

"One of what?" Milly cried in answer. "I am not..."

"Dovahkiin." The dragon raised it head, raised it to charge. "Krif voth ahkrin."

It breathed ice down her, but Milly saw it coming and jumped aside. She jumped over a ridge, and eyed the beast as it rose to the skies. Trying to think of everything but the freezing chill, she gathered flames in her hand. She didn't gather a powerful ball, she just needed to test first where it would do damage. The scaly skin was too though and no degree of fire seemed to even hurt the beast. Not on its belly either, where the skin was thinner.

She wanted to hit its eye, render it blind, but as the beast was flying, she couldn't reach it. And then, the moment it opened its mouth again to blast new ice at her, she realised something. It didn't have any scales inside its mouth, or down his throat.

So, as she dragon was charging, she gathered all she had, all flames into a dense, concentrated force and then, as the mouth was wide open, released it.

The rain and charging ice evaporated into steam, hot steam that burned her, but she endured. The dragon shrieked, a sound seeming to come from its guts, as the fireball hit the target. It writhed in pain, crashing down to the earth.

Milly wanted to run over to Farkas, whom she couldn't see through the curtain of rain and the grassy hills, as a sensation halted her step. There was the wind again, the surge of overpowering energy, raw and livid. It originated at the dragon's corpse, and overcame her so much she was blinded for a second.

Yol.

Fire.

The word seemed to burn in her mouth, and without understanding how, she realised that if she cried the word, she would breathe fire herself the way the dragons could.

And, at the same time, she did understand that her suspicion was correct. It was not just her father who was Dragonborn, but she was, as well. And it made all sense, actually. She did not know what made you Dragonborn, if it was something like magic, or just your ancestral blood... Well, then it was only logical that she too, would have the power.

She was scared of it, however. Her father had gone to that dreadful mountain that loomed far in the southwest, that she couldn't see now through the rain. He was gone to train with those Greybeards, and who really knew what sort of people that were? She certainly didn't want to go there.

She picked up Farkas' sword from between the dragon bones. Its skin, its flesh, had all disappeared, as if it had turned into the force she had taken in her. And, as she was walking back to where Farkas had fallen, she understood him, and the Circle. They did not want other people to know about them being werewolves. It was something people feared, people didn't fully understand. Something they accused you for being.

And was being Dragonborn not the same? True, people saw it something to be in awe with, something ancient and almost like a prophet. But if people knew what she was, that was the only thing she would be known for, rather than her other skills or personality. She had seen how people thought her father was their new revered hero, and she held no desires to be seen the same. She didn't want to be expected to solve the problems of this cold, cold province of Skyrim, and wanted nothing less than to be a pawn in the current affair with the dragons.

It might be a selfish thing to think, but there and then Milly decided to forget all about these events, forget about the dragons. She wouldn't tell anyone, and simply ignore it. At least until she no longer could.

Farkas was still alive. The force had knocked the air out of his lungs and he simply didn't have the force to lift himself back to him feet. He must have fallen unconscious, at least for a while, and hadn't seen anything that had happened. He was exhausted, as he had not slept since the previous night, but he couldn't help to utter his surprise that Milly was able to kill the dragon.

"Well," she said, a humourless grin on her face. "It seems like I am more able to defend myself than anyone thought, am I not?"

They rested before they continued, to find a place that might offer more shelter, perhaps a small cave, a place where Farkas could get some sleep.

And while they were back on their feet again, this time Milly leading and Farkas following, she couldn't help to wonder over the striking contrast between her and Farkas on the moment. He might have lost a secret, but she had certainly gained one.


A/N: I doubt this comes as a surprise to anyone, but still, here you have it! Much of love for everyone who added this story, is going to, or leaves a review to let me know what you think :)

"Krif voth ahkrin": Fight bravely (thanks to UESP)