"Remarkable," Farengar whispered to himself, resting his palms on the edge of the desk. He leaned forward, examining the Dragonstone that Vilkas had handed him a minute ago. The court wizard took a deep breath, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "Absolutely remarkable."

Méra and Vilkas exchanged a quick glance. The room where they stood was big, but cluttered with books, maps and scrolls, vials filled with thick liquids and jars that contained internal organs, staffs and many other magical artefacts.

"So," Vilkas cleared his throat, shifting his weight from one leg to another. Surrounded by all the mage's weird things unnerved him. "Do you need anything else, or…"

Farengar lifted his head at his voice. A light frown creased his forehead, looking truly surprised and somewhat annoyed that he wasn't alone. "Oh. You're still here. No, thank you, we're done here," he walked around his table and passed them, opening the door. "Thank you for bringing the Dragonstone to me. I'm sure Jarl Balgruuf will reward you for your service."

The door closed behind them in the second they stepped out, leaving them alone in the empty corridor. Méra looked at Vilkas with an arched eyebrow. "Is he always like this?"

"Oh, you haven't seen anything yet," Vilkas said while they both padded down the staircase. Long windows made the wide corridor bright and airy, but it was eerily quiet as only Farengar stayed around.

"He's fucking annoying," Méra murmured, making Vilkas smile.

They didn't meet Jarl Balgruuf as he had a meeting with someone, but collected the money from his steward. The jarl didn't lie earlier—he was indeed very generous and rewarded each of them with a fat pouch full of gold. Whiterun had always been a rich city.

"I have to go back to Jorrvaskr," Vilkas said as they stood under the Gildergreen, though it wasn't exactly true. He didn't have to go back immediately; he just needed to spend some time away from her.

Méra noticed immediately that something was off with him; the way he talked, the way he stood. She watched him with narrowed eyes, but before she could ask anything, Vilkas cleared his throat to change the subject. "If you change your mind and want to come inside—"

"Don't stress about it," she rolled her eyes with a smirk on her lips, turning to leave. "See you later."

The Companion shook his head lightly, standing there a few seconds longer as he watched her leave. He scolded himself for letting her wrap him around her fingers without even trying. He didn't understand what had gotten into him. Vilkas could never be fooled by a pretty face, and there were a million reasons he could list why he shouldn't even talk to her. And yet, it all disappeared into thin air when he looked at her. As much as he hated to admit it, he knew his feelings were more than skin deep.

It was early in the evening, hours after Méra walked into the Bannered Mare. She sat in a shaded corner of the inn, her chin propped up on her hands as she stared off into the distance. A single candle burned on the table, a bottle of wine before her. Her mind raced with all the thoughts she wished to forget.

Méra lifted the goblet to her lips, trying to wash down the bitter taste in her mouth with some wine. She felt sick for being so weak, opening up to someone she barely knew. What the fuck is wrong with me? She asked herself over and over again, unable to get rid of the feeling that she didn't know who she was anymore.

If it all would have happened a few months ago, she wouldn't sit idly. She wouldn't overthink it. She would stand up and run away, as far as she could from Whiterun. Méra let people in in the past, and it never ended well. No, she didn't want to make that mistake again. She knew she should leave before it was too late.

But then again, she remembered there was nowhere to go. She had been alone a lot in the past fifteen years; in fact, she always had been a lone wolf, even in her childhood. Loneliness was in her nature—she welcomed it as an old friend whenever it found her again. Even at her worst, she never needed anyone. She could always get by somehow.

This is why it hurt to admit so much that now, after everything that happened, when she thought it couldn't get worse, Méra caught herself wishing someone would hold her hand and guide her.

The candle flickered, and she felt someone near her. As she looked up, she couldn't stifle a tiny smile at the sight of the tall figure, wrapped in dark clothes and hoods.

Nazir squeezed the candle's flame out with his fingers, before he pulled a chair out across Méra to sit down. "And I really thought you left to Elsweyr."

She didn't say anything, and it didn't surprise Nazir. He knew Méra always had been quiet. "What happened?"

She leaned back against the chair, sighing. "Life."

Nazir let out a short, low chuckle. "You've always been so dramatic."

"What are you doing here?"

"Some recruiting," he replied, leaning closer above the table as he turned his voice down. The inn was crowded, and noisy—perfect to hold a conversation like this. It was easier to eavesdrop in an emptier, quiet room with only a few people. "Since you killed the Emperor, everyone talks about us. Well, unfortunately, that so-called dragon attack drew the attention from us, but it hasn't changed anything. People fear and respect us more than ever before. We have a lot of work and not enough assassins since… you know."

Méra swallowed hard, but kept her face straight. She wasn't in the mood for this conversation, and she wanted to leave Nazir, but she was more curious than that.

"Has the Night Mother spoken to any of you?"

"No. Cicero says she isn't happy that the Listener left us and now she punishes us with eternal silence."

While he was shaking his head with a sigh, Méra laughed. "And I'm the dramatic one?"

Silence settled between them, whilst Méra's heart only ached more. It would be so much more easier to go back to the Dark Brotherhood, to her old friends, to start over, to continue what she did in the past seven years. Just as these thoughts raced in her head, Nazir spoke up.

"Why did you leave us, Méra?"

"I told you why."

"You did. But I feel you weren't entirely honest."

Méra looked away, heaving a long sigh. There was absolutely no reason to lie, yet it was hard to tell him the truth.

"You were the best of us," Nazir said as Méra was still silent. "It isn't just my opinion. Everyone agreed. And not just because you get the job done—we all did that. When I heard your stories, when I saw you killing… it was something that made me think that this is exactly how an assassin should work. Straight out of the old books. It was art. No wonder why the Night Mother chose you."

There was no honesty in the faint smile on her lips. Nazir's words punched her in the stomach, pushing her to finally answer his question. "Before the Dark Brotherhood, I only killed bad people. I think I used it as some kind of excuse to justify my actions. I've never thought about killing anyone who never did anything bad in their life. Until I met Astrid," Méra stopped, taking a small sip of her wine. "She taught me that it doesn't matter. That the world isn't split into good people and bad people. Innocent and guilty. That we all have them both inside us. For years, I did what she told me to do. I didn't care about a single soul. Young, old, the most innocent looking person in the world," she shrugged, shaking her head. "I liked it. I really, truly liked it."

She stopped again. Nazir didn't push her, though she hadn't answered his question yet. "When Astrid betrayed me, all the things she taught me just shattered into pieces."

"You've made a mistake, Méra," Nazir said after a long minute of silence.

"Yeah. I trusted the wrong person."

"No," he shook his head, shifting closer. "You put all of your faith in her. You can't do that. You can't put everything up on one person, because if you lose them—if they die or leave you or betray you—all those beliefs will be gone with them. If you truly believe in something, you should believe it because of yourself. You say you enjoyed what you did? That you felt no guilt? I'm not so sure about it anymore. You did what Astrid made you believe and because now she's gone… you doubt yourself."

"Bullshit," Méra scoffed.

"Is it?" Nazir asked. "You knew Astrid very well. You knew how easily she could manipulate others. She had a great influence on you, Méra. But from what you told me now… I'm not so sure it was for your benefit."

Méra closed her eyes, massaging her temples with the tip of her fingers. She felt her heart drumming loudly in her ears. "I'm not easily manipulated," she said, trying to keep her voice quiet and calm as she lifted her head again.

Nazir cast his dark eyes down for a moment. "You aren't. But Astrid found a weak spot of yours. I think you and I both know that."

What he said hurt more than Méra cared to admit. It came in the worst possible time, when she wasn't sure about anything. She stared down at the table, while Nazir's eyes rested on her. They sat in silence for a while, before Méra cleared her throat and slowly stood up, despite she wanted to run. "I have to go."

Nazir gave a short nod. His face didn't show any emotion. "It was an honour to work with you, Méra. But I hope you'll find your place now."

She gave him a strained smile, before she crossed the room and left the inn. The sun was setting slowly, turning the streets to gold, but Méra could barely see anything. Her pulse was fast, her breathing shallow, her chest burned. Her steps were quick, almost running as she walked across the city without knowing where she was heading. Her shoulder bumped into others, but she didn't hear as people cursed and shouted after her.

She only stopped when she felt like she walked into a brick wall, but when she looked up, she found herself face to face with Vilkas. He put his hands on her arms to keep her steady, while his expression went from surprised to concerned. He could hear her heart almost beating out of her chest. "Are you okay?"

Méra shook her head from side to side, closing her eyes as she swallowed hard. "Yes. I just need to leave."

"Why? What happened?"

She stared at the ground, letting out a shaky breath. Involuntarily, she took a step closer to him. A small group of guards ran past them along the narrow street, so Vilkas pulled her out of the way, next to a wooden wall. When she finally looked up, he was surprised how empty her icy gaze was despite of being so upset.

"Nothing," she said quietly. "Today has been just too much."

Vilkas gave a short nod, though he knew she was hiding something. He took a small step backwards to give her some space, his hands falling to his sides. "Where do you want to go?"

"I don't know," Méra said honestly. The chill of the evening air made her shudder. It felt like the temperature dropped suddenly as the wind rose, gust following gust. She wiped the loose strands of hair out of her face. "I just can't stay here with you."

Her answer confused Vilkas even more. A few hours ago she seemed to be just fine; definitely better than she was in the morning after she woke up. Now she seemed upset and a little lost, no matter how much she tried to hide it. Her last words echoed in his head. "I just can't stay here with you."

Lighting flashed and thunder rumbled. The sky that was golden and magenta only a minute ago now faded to a dark, dusty grey. The sound shook Vilkas out of his thoughts. "Okay… we can talk tomorrow. You don't have to leave."

Méra closed her eyes again with a sigh. She couldn't make him understand that she didn't want to talk, not now and not tomorrow, never. She opened her mouth to tell him this as clearly as she could, but the distinct sound of clinking armour cut her off.

They watched with furrowed eyebrows as another group of guards ran past them. Vilkas stepped out just in time to stop one of them at the end of the line, asking what was happening.

The man took his helmet off. He was old and looked experienced, yet fear glistened in his eyes. "Dragon. Outside the city," he said shortly, out of breath. "Irileth just went to Jorrvaskr asking for your help."

It was very rare when the guards asked the Companions' help, even Méra knew this. Vilkas watched as the guard left, his eyes round and his jaw dropped. He knew he should act quickly, but the simple mention of the dragon froze him. He had heard what it had done to Helgen; how are they going to pick a fight with something like that?

"Well," Méra's voice made him collect himself. "One more reason to leave."

She could see the hint of anger on Vilkas' face. "Or you could help us."

"Against a dragon?" she asked so sharply the Companion went speechless again. "I saw people fighting against a dragon and I saw all of them die. You know how I made it out alive? Because I fled. And not because I was afraid—I just knew I had no chance. This place is going to be nothing more than dust and ashes soon. I'm helping you, Vilkas. Get out of here as long as it isn't too late."

"Because running away is a solution, right?" Vilkas raised his voice after a few seconds of silence, making Méra roll her eyes. "Didn't you say to me earlier that you don't see the point anymore? Well, here's your chance to do something. Or leave and feel sorry for yourself."

It was the first time they heard a distant, deep roar and they both recognized it wasn't thunder. Méra thought the sound was familiar, just like on the day she heard it near Helgen. She remembered how close she was to the border then.

Vilkas looked at her one last time, before he left.

"Fuck you," Méra murmured quietly. She had to pick up her pace, almost run to reach him. "Fuck you," she repeated, louder this time when she was walking next to him.

"I heard it the first time."

Méra huffed out a breath. She tend to forget that Vilkas had heightened senses, including hearing. Now that she was thinking about it, she never saw him using the benefits of the beast blood. He didn't even talk about it.

They just reached the Plains District when the noises became louder, clearer, and they could see from the distance as the dragon landed on the top of the gates. The wood broke under its weight, but it could find support on the stones. When it opened its great mouth, the roars echoed through the whole city.

More and more people left their houses to peek out, only to pull back a moment later with a scream.

Méra realized immediately that it wasn't the same dragon she saw in Helgen. Even under the dim light of the darkened sky, she could tell its skin was lighter, not black; and much, much smaller than the other one. Somehow, it gave her hope.

The dragon opened its mouth again, breathing fire all over the buildings it could reach.

"Holy shit," Méra heard from behind. When they turned around, she recognized the source of the voice as Vilkas' brother. He looked just as shocked as the others who came with him. Méra didn't know them, but she figured they were Companions as well.

"We need to evacuate the city," Vilkas said, stepping closer to his brother.

"And how do you plan to do that?" A woman with ginger locks asked, her bright eyes not leaving the dragon. She had her bow at the ready. "Because the beast just set the gates on fire and as far as I know, Whiterun has no other exit. Unless you want to lead hundreds of people through the Underforge."

She added the last sentence so quietly only Vilkas could hear it, but Méra stepped close enough to him to catch her words.

"They don't need to leave," Méra said. "You should lead them under the city. Tell them to hide in the basement if they have one. The others should go to the basement of the temple, guards' catacombs, anywhere underground."

Silence welcomed her words. It was a woman with shoulder length brown hair and angry eyes who first spoke. "I'm sorry, but why should we take orders from you?"

"Maybe because she survived Helgen," Vilkas replied matter-of-factly, and Méra was glad to see the woman went speechless quickly. "Njada, Athis, do what she said. Farkas, you should go with them."

Farkas gave him a puzzled look. "But I want to fight the dragon."

"Go with them and help the citizens," Vilkas replied. "Be stupid later."

Their ways separated quickly. While the three Companions ran back the way they came, Méra headed towards the dragon with the others. She pulled her sword out of its sheath, though she had no idea how she could get close enough without getting burned.

The dragon left the gates and flew deeper into the city, burning up everything on its way. Soon, the sound of people yelling and crying filled the city, mixed with clinking of armour and shouting orders. It was a mess. The little hope Méra had a minute ago slowly left her.

"You escaped Helgen," a Companion with strict face stepped to her. "Any ideas?"

Méra shot an annoyed look at Vilkas. Just because she was there and made it out alive, it didn't mean she knew how to kill a dragon. If she didn't want to make a fool of herself, she needed to use her common sense.

They watched as the arrows bounced off its scales like toothpicks. Méra remembered her fight with Durnehviir, and her less successful meeting with the other dragon in Helgen. "We have to bring it down to the ground. We have no chance while it's up there."

"Good thinking," the woman said, aiming her arrow. "Get some spears, throwing axes, anything you can use to wound its wings. They look thin."

They exchanged a quick, silent nod, before Vilkas led Méra aside. "You see the guards' barracks there?" He pointed towards an already ruined building near the gates. Through the collapsed, burning buildings, the only way that led there was the middle of the street, right under where the dragon circled.

"That's suicide."

"We have to try it."

"Fuck," Méra breathed out, hesitating for a moment. "I swear by all the gods Vilkas, if we make it out alive, I'm going to kill you." Her words made him smile for a sole second, but they didn't waste more time. They ran across the street as fast as they could, taking the advantage of the guards and the Companions distracting the dragon.

Vilkas tried to stop and help a guard whose body was on fire, but Méra quickly pulled him away. There was no time if they wanted to reach the building before the dragon noticed them. They climbed through the debris, ruins of houses, burned corpses. Vilkas watched the scenery with horror on his face.

Half of the guards' barracks had been completely demolished; the wooden roof was on fire, a part of the stone walls collapsed to the ground. It was dangerous to even walk in there; they both acknowledged that with a quick glance.

Méra sheathed her sword as they started to pick up every weapon they could use. Spears and throwing axes, shields, bows and arrows. The rafter above them were creaking ominously and they looked up, stopping in their movements.

"We should go," the words barely passed his lips when they heard the roar of the dragon dangerously close to them. Vilkas dropped everything he had in his hands and pulled Méra down behind the ruins of the firewall, keeping his shield up above the both of them while the beast's fire made the building collapse.

Without realizing, Méra held her breath back, waiting it to be over. She kept her eyes shut tightly; her body pressed against Vilkas' as he wrapped one arm around her. She felt splitting pain in her left leg, but when she tried to move it away, she couldn't. Vilkas' shout filled her ears as he tried to keep his shield up with everything he had. The beast blood gave him enhanced strength, but his muscles ached terribly while he tried to protect the both of them from the bricks and burning woods as it all crashed onto them.

When it finally stopped, Vilkas waited a few seconds to make sure the dragon wasn't near them anymore. With his remaiming strength, he moved the debris away so he could pull himself up from the ground. He saw Méra was still sitting, one of her legs stuck under a wooden beam. There was no way it didn't break a bone. He threw it away and helped her up, both of them coughing from the dust and ashes.

"Are you okay? Can you walk?"

Despite the swollen ache in her calf, the throbbing pain in her chest, and the loud buzzing in her head, she nodded. She looked up at Vilkas, still panting heavily. Just before the house started to collapse on top of them, he was close enough to the door. Méra knew if he was alone, he could have easily jump out to save himself, but he chose to help her.

They could only free five spears from under the ruins that wasn't broken or burned. With a small, silent glance, they both acknowledged their whole effort was in vain. Méra let out a deep breath, but she immediately regretted it. Her broken ribs made her wince, and it didn't go unnoticed by Vilkas.

"You should take some cover. Go to the Temple—"

"No. I'm fine," she protested, reaching for a spear that Vilkas held. She bit the inside of her cheek when she started to walk again so she wouldn't cry out in pain. The Companion followed Méra and stopped behind her, watching as she aimed at where the dragon circled up in the air. When the beast noticed them and it flew towards where they stood, Vilkas almost pulled her out of the way, but Méra threw the spear before he could.

She groaned in pain and clutched her side as soon as she released the weapon. It went straight under its right wing and the dragon screeched loudly in pain, faltering for a second in the sky before it crashed to the ground. Méra and Vilkas jumped to opposite directions, both trying to take cover.

Méra felt the metallic taste of blood in her mouth as she bit her cheeks and tongue too hard while she tried to keep her groans in. She was sitting on the ground with her back against the ruins, hiding from the dragon. She knew it was close to her. She heard the heavy sounds of it steps, the deep rumblings from its chest.

The dragon lifted its wing before he struck down with it, right in the middle of the collapsed wooden house where she was hiding. She jumped up just in time, running to another safe place. She didn't know how long she could keep this up—every inch in her body hurt.

She took the long moments of silence as a cue to leave, but just as she walked around the ruins and reached the street, she found herself in front of the dragon.

Méra gasped and froze. She didn't have time to pull her sword out, nor running away; the dragon would snap her in half before she could move a finger. But the beast didn't attack.

The dragon took a step closer, tilting its head to get a better look, sniffing curiously, until the angry grumbles in its throat slowly died away. Méra looked into the fiery eyes and she saw the narrow pupils slightly dilating. Her heartbeat went from rapid to steady. For a few moments, she felt she had no reason to be afraid.

Until someone threw a spear and the dragon opened its mouth, roaring so loudly Méra almost fell over. The blissful moments of calmness disappeared and she pulled her katana out, striking down and cutting the dragon where she could reach. She was trying to find the weak spots, but its skin was too rough and thick everywhere.

The Companions and the guards of Whiterun were around the creature, all of them throwing spears and axes or using their swords. They learned quickly that the steel tipped arrows were no use here.

Méra stopped for a second, shutting her eyes tightly as she listened to the dragon's painful roars and screeches. She felt them in her bones, they crept up on her spine, and she caught herself wishing she could stop it.

She shook herself out of it and attacked again, this time successfully finding a weak spot under the dragon's chin. Its eyes were on her again, and Méra dropped down to the ground right before it could set her on fire. She rolled over, realizing her arm was burning, rubbing it on the wet grass.

While dozens of women and men still attacked the dragon at once, it ignored everything and hurried towards Méra. She realized she had about three seconds to decide what to do. Running away wasn't an option. She could either stay there and wait for death or stand up and fight.

She fought herself up on her feet as quickly as her aching body allowed, starting towards the dragon and closing the small distance that remained between them. She had no idea what she was doing, if she should be honest. The beast opened its mouth but Méra was quicker, cutting long and deep under its chin. It slowed it down for a moment, giving time to Méra to go closer and strike down again, thrusting her sword into the dragon's head.

Méra didn't have the strength to pull the katana out. The dragon faltered, a powerless screech leaving its throat before it landed on the ground, thick, dark blood flowing everywhere on the ground.

Everyone froze for long seconds; it felt like time had stopped. Méra could only hear her own shallow breaths and the crackling of the fire as the buildings around her slowly burned down.

A few moments or an eternity later, she couldn't decide, the dragon's body started to shake and rattle, and Méra almost let out a hysterical laughter. No, fuck, no. She thought it was dead. She heard people around her shouting orders again, clinking of swords, but the dragon's eyes were still lifeless.

She heard whoosing, silent whispers while she stood there stunned, watching as the dragon's body caught fire. It glowed and shimmered until nothing remained but bones and scales, Méra's sword landed on the ground with a sharp clink. The golden and white simmers still circled around its bones, until they slowly floated towards Méra.

She closed her eyes when they reached her, and she felt something she had never experienced before. It flew through her whole body, warm and cold at the same time. She wasn't sure she was standing anymore—she didn't feel anything under her feet. It was like floating, flying. She felt strength, infinite power. She felt rage and she felt peace, fighting for balance.

When she opened her eyes with a sharp breath, everything was cold and painful again. The bones lied there, a few feet away from her. Méra slowly looked around, seeing as everyone watched her. Fear, respect, despise, relief. She could see them all.

Suddenly, she felt a hand grasping hers. "Come with me," Vilkas said quietly, but Méra didn't move. She couldn't. The whispers now filled her ears and echoed through her head, all saying the same word. Dragonborn.

"Méra," he spoke up again, gently tugging on her hand. She looked at him. Her gaze was still distant, but Vilkas saw something in the depth of her eyes he never thought he would: fear. "Come with me."

She let him lead her through the ruins of the city without asking where they were going. She felt exhausted and disconnected, and yet, somehow, for the first time in years, whole.