Dawn came with a chilly wind tearing at their clothes, the assassins bundled their robes around them. Quill stood comfortably, a lone figure in black among the white robes of her companions. She breathed in the fresh morning air, and smiled despite herself.
"Something amusing?" Altaïr asked, quirking a brow.
"I can't help but feel a certain amount of excitement... Or it might be blind panic since we're clearly doomed," she replied jokingly. She wasn't sure why she was in such a good mood. The cool morning made her feel more awake and alert than the land's usual suppressive heat.
"I'd guess blind panic then," he replied with a side-ways smile. At which she stuck her tongue out at him.
They were observing the approaching enemy from the safety of the hills. The tiny soldiers looked like an army of ants in the distance with the illusion of their size, but not their numbers.
Quill gave a low whistle as the entire advancing horde was eventually visible. "That's a lot of Templars..."
Altaïr's face was stern, the lines drawn hard with determination. "It is, yes."
They had been aware that the Templars would come in full force against the Fortress of Masyaf, after their previous attempt they would also doubtlessly change their tactic. They could make out a mounted messenger riding up to two figures towards the back of the army, the low drone of many feet creating a hum in the air like a thousand bees. There seemed to be some kind of heated debate, after which one of the figures motioned towards a trumpeter.
With the flat sound of a single trumpet, more than half of the advancing force halted, and reforming, turned off veering away from the Assassin's headquarters. The gathered assassins shared confused looks, eventually turning towards the equally perplexed Altaïr.
"Where are they going? Is there a way around?" Quill asked, feeling cautiously hopeful.
"No," he said after a while. "No there isn't. They are heading back towards Acre."
"What's there?"
"Their headquarters. But also the harbor... It doesn't make sense."
"You think they're leaving?"
"The only reason they would do that, would be that they have knowledge that we don't."
"Then we need to find out what that it," Quill said, getting the definite feeling that she had no idea what was going on.
"I agree, but we first need to deal with the forces coming this way," Altaïr replied pointing towards the now reduced, but still considerable horde.
. . .
The battle was going badly.
Despite the reduced numbers of the Templars, and the effective plan to flank them and attack from both ends, the Assassins were heavily outnumbered.
All around her Quill saw death, despair and a looming defeat. Even though her companions moved with their usual graceful steady pace through the hordes attacking them – Altaïr easily taking on several at a time – they would still be exhausted before they even met the bulk of the Templar force.
She, Emir, Malik and Altaïr kept as close together as they could in the throng of bodies.
Quill wasn't faring too badly herself, the body count behind her relentless push against the advancing forces speaking volumes for her own skill. A Templar had singled her out, and although she managed to counter and block his attacks easily - he was slow and cumbersome in his heavy armor - but he managed to land a solid blow against her with his over-sized shield. She stumbled back from the sheer force of the impact, everything going slightly darker as she felt the pain bloom over her right eye, her head instantly throbbing, pouring crimson blood from her split forehead. She fell straight onto her back, the sun blocked out by her attacker.
Altaïr was instantly there, his sword thrust through the Templar's back, as the giant man sank to the ground in a clang of metal.
"Altaïr! We can't keep them at bay. There's just too many!" Quill heard Malik dimly over the throbbing of blood in her ears.
"We must," Altaïr replied, determined, but sounding oddly defeated.
She heard several other assassins mutter the same thing – they were losing. All that was left was to give the Templars a fight before they were all slaughtered.
"This is the end then? I'm so far from home…" she thought numbly, suddenly wondering whether she would see Sovngarde if she fell in battle in different world.
"No."
She heard the voice deep within her subconscious - quiet, but completely certain in its conviction. It wasn't the wolf. She knew the wolf's voice all too well. The wolf was excitable, wild and not always very coherent. This was new, yet felt strangely familiar. It was terrifyingly calm.
"No," she repeated aloud. "Ha! I will not be defeated so easily." The voice had become a near deafening roar in her mind, spilling from her lips of its own vocation.
Altaïr watched as Quill sat up, her hand against her head – it must hurt like all hell, the blood was pouring over her face, the bright red streaming down over her right eye, mingling with her standard red war paint. She rose to a kneeling position, seemingly not entirely in possession of herself. He was about to offer her what assistance he could, when he heard her decisive statement and his breath caught in his throat.
She began glowing, the soft glow of dying embers, when the charred wood burned so completely that the merest gust of wind sets it afloat. The flecks of gold rose from her kneeling form, she appeared to be incinerating from the inside out – like the dragon he saw her kill all those months ago - it's soul tearing free from its fleshy form. He suddenly became aware of a similar glow closer to him, and looking down, notice his pocket where the Apple was safely hidden shone in a gold shimmer too. The glow from the Piece of Eden mingling with the embers around Quill, creating an almost blinding light.
The glow began swirling around her, shapelessly for a moment before rearranging itself. By this time everyone – Templar and Assassin – in the near proximity was watching the spectacle transfixed.
A shape became visible, and slowly more defined – a great spectral dragon lifted its head to the skies and roared in fury. Instantly clouds gathered, and turned mid-day dark and chilly, while the golden orb of the Apple shone and hummed, shuddering slightly as its light joined that of Quill.
Surveying the battlefield with cold blue eyes, the dragon opened its mouth again, pelting all those around with a fire blazing like the sun. The natural reaction is, of course, to try and turn away from such an inferno, but Assassin's looked around in dumbfounded amazement as they remained unharmed, while all that remained of their enemies were heaps of smoldering ash. The swirling golden flecks kept floating around Quill, creating simultaneously a solid and phantom vision. The flecks sought out her allies, landing on cut arms, bruised faces, wounds that might have cost a man his life – all were improved to leave the person fighting fit again.
The Templars that were close enough to witness the strange event, and not be devoured by the fire, began to retreat back, but the constant push of more troops behind them made their escape impossible.
The dragon gave Altaïr a long look, and for a moment he wasn't sure whether she recognized him, but turning its great head back to the sky, it summoned aid in this desperate battle.
"Odahviing," the roar echoed across the fields, thunder rolling in the clouds. "Zu'u for hin mir!"
The spectral dragon began to dissipate into a swirling cloud of gold dust again, returning in a slow vortex to its owner, the Apple's glow steadily decreasing too, while the clouds shuddered with the sound of mighty roars, even as a soft drizzle of light snow fell to the parched ground.
Quill rose with eyes ablaze, shining golden and terrifying, as the red dragon appeared through the clouds. Visible beyond was a bright evening sky, colored with purples, blues and greens, illuminated by twin moons.
Altaïr was approaching her, leaving the rest of the assassins to lead the renewed attack on the now terrified Templars, when he was nearly knocked off his feet as the great dragon landed beside Quill.
"Drem Yol Lok," it rumbled, and he recognized it as the dragon that had flown her to the world of the dead, to defeat Alduin.
Without hesitation, she leapt onto its neck, as the great beast plunged into the sky. They first circled the battle field, sowing destruction to their enemies. It felt like a vision from a far-fetched tale, but the Assassins didn't waste their time staring.
"Damnation," Altaïr muttered, as he saw the direction in which Quill was sending her unlikely mount. She was headed right for the thick of the Templars – she was searching for their leader. With new determination he began fighting his way in that direction.
Odahviing landed on top of a large group of cavalry, among the terrified shrieks of horses and men, Quill jumped to the ground, still feeling the power of the dragon coursing through her veins. She felt invincible, and far too superior to admit defeat to these mere mortals, she practically vibrated with contained energy. She left a sea of bodies in her wake as she made her way to the pavilion of the Templar's leader.
But she stopped suddenly, blocking the swing from her left, she used her other hand to pull the helmet off the Templar's head.
"You should get out of here if you wish to live," she said to the wide-eyed woman. She recognized her smell, but it was now mingled with anger, fear and a small amount of awe.
"I will not abandon my order in its time of need!" she sneered at the strange woman, her composure regained.
"Then you will die with them."
"So be it," she said defiantly.
"Don't be foolish! I am trying to repay my debt – a life for a life."
"I will not let you kill another leader of the Templars."
"I haven't killed anyone," Quill replied with annoyance, but then added – "Well, until now. But I am defending my own, and taking vengeance for blood spilled by yours. Your 'order' was the ones who came looking for trouble. Congratulations. You found it. Now get out of here," Quill all but growled.
"No," she maintained, annoyance and anger creating a dangerous combination as she set her jaw stubbornly. She drew her sword, and attacked her enemy. But Quill's reflexes still superbly quick, easily dodged the swing.
Altaïr was close enough to see Quill and a Templar fight. The Templar looked oddly familiar, and oddly feminine. Realization dawned as he finally recognized her as Robert de Sable's loyalist. She obviously still had a bone to pick with the Assassins – and with him.
Quill was doing well enough, her opponent's heightened emotion blinding her in her anger, and soon Quill had the woman's weapon tossed to one side. Quill gave a low whistle, and as if from thin air a black horse appeared by her side.
"What are you?" the woman asked, sure that this was not a woman, but some demon – with abilities to turn into a beast, summoning dragons and strange demonic horses from the pits of Hell itself.
Quill merely cocked one eyebrow, before bodily hauling the other woman onto Shadowmere's back. She was deceptively strong, seemingly having no trouble with the weight of the person and the heavy armor.
"What are you doing?!"
"Repaying my debt," she said calmly.
"Go to Hell!" Maria yelled in frustration as she tried to get off the horse without any success. It was as if she was glued to the saddle.
"That's convenient – I don't know what that is… Take her away," she said to the horse, and it obeyed immediately.
Maria was left to helplessly watch the woman slaughter the remainder of the guards, before beheading the Commanding Officer. She had to admit, she didn't even know his name - he had only been shoved in the position for this battle.
The dragon continued to circle the field and made short work of the Templars. When the horse stopped momentarily on a small hillock, she looked out over the lost battle, and deep in her heart steeled herself against the Assassins, vowing to destroy their order – beginning with the man that lead them. He had after all killed her mentor, and now his unholy army decimated the bulk of the Templar army.
The horse whinnied, and she was sure it was annoyed with her, before turning away.
. . .
The battle was won – despite the initial overwhelming odds. As the Assassins began to cheer at their improbable victory, the clouds started closing the gap between their world and Skyrim.
Quill was overcome by weariness, and first slipping down onto her knees, she toppled over senseless.
Altaïr neared her, feeling slightly ill at ease with what he had witnessed earlier. The red dragon approached, landing deceptively quietly beside her prostrate from.
"The joor body is not meant to experience that much power coursing through it - she fully embraced the dovah sil and gave it control," he said, his voice a deep rumble.
"Will she be alright?"
"Geh, she needs rest. Or do you mean, will she be the same as before?" the dragon voiced his silent fear.
"Both."
"On the second I do not know. She is more powerful than she always acknowledges. For a mortal to have the soul of a dragon is both a blessing and a curse. Dragons are immortal – we have an eternity to come to terms with our nature. The Dragonborn has but a few short human years. She is strong however, in and of herself. That if why the dragons respect her – that is why I came."
"You're the one that took her to the place where she would defeat Alduin. Why did you betray your leader?"
"I had made a bargain. My arrogance had landed me in her trap – a very cunning mortal, in deed. Alduin had become consumed by his hunger for power. It is a fate all dragons try to guard against. We hunger after power more than anything else."
"And someone with a dragon's soul?"
"You already know the answer, do you not? She fears her own desire to dominate over those that she feels inherently are beneath her."
"She's not like that."
"No, perhaps not all of her. But the dragon in her is."
Altaïr frowned, remembering their conversation a while back. She did say it was a personal struggle for her – but he had assumed it might be mere arrogance, not a literal blood-born power hunger.
"Skyrim beckons me, but I shall not leave a dovah, even just a dovahkiin on the battle field." Saying this, the dragon closed one claw with care around Quill, and standing awkwardly on one foot, spread his great wings.
"Where are you taking her?" Sudden fear that the dragon meant to take her with him, rose in his mind.
"She needs praan ahrk ulaak. Your fortress is not far from here, geh?"
"Yes. How will you find it?"
A rumble came from the dragon's throat, and Altaïr realized it was laughing at him. Lowering his head, the dragon gave him the invitation to be flown back – as he had seen Quill riding the very same dragon months ago.
With more than a slight tinge of dread, he lifted himself onto the creature's neck, and held his breath as they took to the sky.
Quill had been right – this was nowhere near the same as jumping from a tower. The height made him slightly uncomfortable, not having the same trust in the dragon's motives, but the view was incredible, the feeling of the wind rushing past at a speed humans could only ever dream of – it was terrifying and wonderful.
He was almost disappointed when the dragon landed in front of the fortress– still not sure how it knew where to go – it was an exhilarating experience, but it did feel good to have solid ground under his feet again. The dragon left Quill on the ground, and just as Altaïr expected it to take to the sky, the gap in the clouds granting passage to Skyrim still steadily closing since Quill's collapse, it stopped as if remembering something.
"You might want to seek a healer. The dovahkiin might just be tired, but the sahlon do dinok hangs on you." And with that the dragon beat its wings, creating small dust devils as the air stirred below it, and with one last roar in the skies of a world that is unfamiliar with such a mighty roar, he disappeared into the cloudy Skyrim night sky.
Looking at down himself for the first time, he realized that the dragon had been right – he had several injuries, some quite severe, none of which he had even noticed until just then. But just knowing about them, meant they caused him sudden pain.
Malik – with impeccable timing as usual – came up to his friend to steady him.
"So?" he asked with the excitement of a schoolboy.
"What?" Altaïr asked in confusion, realizing that he must have lost quite a bit of blood.
"How was it to fly?"
"Pretty amazing," he said, giving his friend a broad smile, before being led to the sick bay.
A/N : Thanks ShoutFinder! - huge help with my lack of Draconic knowledge :- www. thuum .org