A/N: I, er, borrowed some game dialogue for this chapter. Hopefully it all makes sense. I promise the smut is coming eventually... I think when I finally get that chapter posted up I'm going to smash a chair and party like a Stormcloak. Hello to new followers, many many thanks to my lovely reviewers, you super people :) I'm not at home to Mr Writer's block... though he keeps threatening me with a visit.
"So you're the Dragonborn I've been hearing so much about," Delphine announced. The barkeep's eyes were bright, her voice clear and commanding. "I bet you're looking for this."
Myrna took the item she thrust into her palms. It was a piece of mammoth tusk, worn and yellowed in its considerable age, decorated with Draconic inscription. Scant slivers of gold leaf remained upon its surface, but there was no denying what it was - the horn of Jurgen Windcaller.
"But... What..." Myrna stuttered, turning it over in her hands. "How did you get this?"
"All will be explained," the woman assured, her lips spreading in what almost became a smile. "Follow me."
Without giving them time to consider or confer the barkeep turned on her heel, striding out of the room and into the common room of the inn. Myna glanced at Vilkas, who had not yet returned his sword to its sheath, and with a half-shrug she went after the Breton woman, leaving Vilkas to reluctantly follow suit. This situation seemed wrong to him. This woman, Delphine, had been running the inn that last time he had supped here, he was sure of it. She must be deep in someone's pocket to play the harmless innkeeper for so long, when it was obvious now that she was anything but. Whatever she was, whoever she belonged to, she was still only one woman, and while Vilkas made the effort to shoulder his longsword he did not lower his guard.
Delphine led them into another bedroom on the opposite side of the inn, decorated far more lavishly than the room they had been rented. A thick green woolen bedspread lay upon the furs of the single bed, and a handsome carved wardrobe stood at the side of the room.
"Close the door," Delphine commanded, and Myrna turned to Vilkas expectantly. Despite his misgivings he did as the woman asked; unless there was someone hidden beneath the bed, they still happily outmatched her at two to one, should it have come down to numbers.
With the door closed and bolted Delphine turned her attention to the wardrobe, throwing its doors open wide. What lay within was not a person, but a passage; and Delphine beckoned to the Companions to follow her down the steps and into the secret room within. Myrna's eyes were wide with amazement. To think all this lay below the little inn in Riverwood, that she had passed by so many moons ago and thought so little of! Vilkas followed a pace or two behind her, his features impassive, taking in the many blades in the racks at the sides of the room as they gleamed in the lamplight. There were books as well, many more than even his heavy-laden shelves held at Jorrvaskr, and maps; the largest of which was spread across the table that the innkeeper now leaned upon, that catlike half-smile still present on her face.
"Now we can talk," Delphine purred. She fixed Myrna with a lengthy stare, taking stock of her from her boots upwards. Under such scrutiny Myrna felt suddenly naked, only just managing to keep her expression neutral as Delphine's gaze fell again upon her eyes. "The Greybeards seem to think you're the Dragonborn," she said flatly. "I hope they're right."
"They are right," Vilkas answered, narrowing his eyes at the woman. "Myrna has the gift of the Voice. I have seen it myself."
"Is that so?" The innkeeper replied, amused. "And yet you jump in before she has chance to speak. Any fool with the aptitude and patience can learn the Way of the Voice, Companion. Ulfric Stormcloak is proof enough of that."
Myrna winced at the sound of the name but held firm, keeping her eyes fixed upon the woman's face. "It is true. I am the Dragonborn. I fought the dragon Mirmulnir and took his soul, though I confess I do not know how I did it."
She could feel the dragon slithering in her soul now, though his scathing words could no longer penetrate her heart. Standing straight Delphine regarded her again, as if staring harder into her eyes would somehow catch her in a lie. Finally satisfied, the woman grinned again, and Myrna felt her own mouth twitch upwards in a small smile.
"Very well Myrna," Delphine said, testing her name on her tongue. "I apologise for my... underhanded means of getting you here. You can't be too careful in Skyrim these days. Thalmor spies are everywhere."
"The Thalmor are involved in this?" Myrna replied, her fingers reaching for the handles of her blades instinctively. "Are they the reason the dragons returned?"
Delphine leaned against the table once more, tapping a long finger against the side of her jaw in thought. "It is merely a suspicion of mine. The Thalmor stood to lose a great deal if Jarl Ulfric had died at Helgen; it was most fortuitous that a dragon intervened when it did."
Myrna cast her mind back to that day, recalling how she had stood before the block, hands bound and awaiting her death. It did not matter to the Imperials that she was innocent of the crime they accused her of, nor had the apology of the man calling himself Hadvir mattered much to her in turn. Her life had never been an easy one, but her skill in stealth and swordplay provided her with a better means of making a living than some were forced to endure. Such skills tended to attract the attention of those with less than scrupulous motives, however, and while their gold was good Myrna often found herself running from one person or another, never sleeping in the same place twice and always fearful of a blade in the dark. It was a lonely life, and an end at the headsman's blade had seemed as good as any, until some combination of fate and the Divines' good humour had saved her and given her a reason to survive. Before the horror of the great black dragon, Myrna could remember the tall, golden-skinned woman who had been there, watching over the proceedings. Her robes were unmistakeably those of the Thalmor, but it had not occurred to Myrna at all to question the reason the elves were there. Myrna did not know what had become of the Altmer woman once Alduin had razed the village to the ground, but she could not remember seeing her golden face amongst the bodies...
"The reason I have brought you here," Delphine continued, snapping Myrna back from her thoughts, "is because I belong to a group that's been looking for you... well, someone like you, for a very long time. If you really are the Dragonborn, that is. I need to make sure I can trust you. I did not count on you being accompanied by a bodyguard, or whomever this man might be to you."
Her eyes darted to Vilkas, who returned the look with a sour one of his own. Before he could retort, Myrna answered instead.
"Vilkas is my Shield-brother, he goes where I go. I am Harbinger of the Companions as well as the Dragonborn."
Delphine glanced between them both, her amusement lighting her face for a mere second before seriousness took over once more. "My, but you have been busy. I trust your duties as Harbinger will not distract you from your path as the Dragonborn? You bear a great responsibility upon your shoulders, if you are who you say you are."
"I know," Myrna spat. It was enough that she had finally accepted it; she did not need reminding. And nor did she need this woman to speculate whether she was truly Dragonborn or not. She had proved herself over and over, now they were just wasting time, and exactly who was this woman, Delphine, to doubt her? Vilkas was apparently thinking much the same as she; the warrior's arms were folded across his chest firmly as Delphine turned to him, his features furrowed into a deepening scowl.
"And you are prepared to fight dragons alongside your leader?" she inquired.
"I would fight the Daedra of Oblivion themselves for Myrna. I have sworn it."
His answer seemed to give Delphine pause. Her eyes flickered between Vilkas an Myrna, just for a second, then she nodded. "Very well, another blade is no bad thing." She turned back to Myrna. "The dragons have not just returned to Skyrim, they are being brought back to life. They were killed long ago by the dragonslayers of old - my predecessors. The Dragonborn is the ultimate dragonslayer; the only one who can permanently defeat a dragon by consuming its soul. You say you devoured the soul of Mirmulnir. I wish for you to prove that to me."
"And how am I to do that, exactly?" Myrna retorted, shifting angrily. "I feel I am having to 'prove myself' to everyone. You will not accept my voice as proof, so what am I to do? There have been no dragons in Skyrim since the attack on Whiterun. Am I to call forth a dragon from the void so that I can kill it before your eyes?"
"If you will allow me to explain," Delphine replied coolly, "I have been investigating the ancient burial sites of the dragons." She smoothed out the map on the table with her fingers, weighting it down at the edge with a heavy brass candlestick. "Here," she said, pointing, "is the burial mound of the dragon you call Mirmulnir, which was once thought to be lost to us. With the help of my contacts I have found it, and others like it, all empty. And I believe I know where the next dragon is due to rise. We're going to go there, and you're going to kill that dragon. After that, I will tell you anything you want to know."
Myrna felt her heart stutter. It had been months since she had last faced one of the beasts, and her victory there had been mostly due to the army that she had fought with. Was the strength of her Voice alone truly enough to bring down a legend? And could her blades even cut through the steely hide of a dragon? Mirmulnir would tell her no, but something inside her assured her that it could be done, if she was only prepared to take the risk. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Vilkas, standing still as a statue behind her. She knew even without looking that he was hanging on her answer, just as ready to follow her into the waiting jaws of death as he would be if she decided to ignore this madness and go home to Jorrvaskr. The latter was no option, unfortunately. If Delphine could help her against Alduin, then she must try.
"Fine," she said at last. "Where is the next dragon set to rise?"
"Kynesgrove," said Delphine, pointing again to the map. "If we can get there before it happens, we may be able to learn how to stop it."
"Kynesgrove?!" Vilkas exclaimed, stepping forward to peer at the map incredulously. "But, there's nothing there, barely even a village, why should a dragon be buried there?"
"Why should the dragons exist at all?" Delphine replied. "Kynesgrove is the place, I am sure of it. We have wasted enough time here already. If we are to get there on time, we must leave at once."
Myrna rubbed her forehead with the back of one of her gloves, biting back the sigh that threatened to leave her lips. She looked down upon the horn of Jurgen Windcaller, the horn of the legendary Master of the Voice that she now held in her own two hands. If she wasn't ready now, then she never would be.
"Right. Let's go kill a dragon."
Expecting only one adventurer, Delphine had only acquired two horses for the journey. It made little difference, for the horses of Skyrim were nothing if not sturdy beasts. Therefore the two Breton women rode double upon a sturdy grey charger, whilst Vilkas took the reins of the second horse, a bad-tempered black stallion by the name of Hervir. It had been a long time since Vilkas had been riding, and Hervir made sure he paid for it; flatly ignoring his commands in favour of picking his own pace and direction on the roads towards Kynesgrove.
Vilkas had therefore been embarrassed when Delphine was forced to turn back for him, and even more so when he saw Myrna laughing as his horse bent his head to nibble the grass as if he had no rider at all. Myrna slid off her horse from behind Delphine, patted Hervir's neck affectionately, and within the space of a minute the beast was literally eating out of the palm of her hand once she had sweetened the offer with a biscuit. With the horse appeased, Myrna then reached up towards Vilkas, whom, once he had grasped what she was about, pulled her up and made room for her to sit before him on the saddle. Myrna had been too busy stroking Hervir's ebony mane to notice the way Vilkas had trembled at her sudden closeness. He didn't have the first idea what do with his hands. One of them held the reins, but the other should be doing something, he knew. If he wrapped it around her waist, would she see it as another unwanted advance or for what it was - his simple desire to keep her safe?
The decision was taken from him as Myrna assumed control of the reins. A squeeze of her knees set the horse speeding down the road as if it had been suddenly assaulted with a red hot poker, and Vilkas was forced to grab hold of Myrna's cloak to prevent himself from toppling. It turned out the Harbinger had a way with animals as certainly as she did with people, and was a fair rider besides; so fast was she that Delphine had to remind her that it was she that was supposed to be leading the way to Kynesgrove. After that she slowed, with Hervir responding obligingly to her every nudge and command as if she had always been his mistress. Whatever life Myrna had lived before she came to Skyrim, she had found the time to become a very skilled rider, and Vilkas found himself with nothing better to do than enjoy the ride, for the weather was pleasant and the company even more so - if one ignored Delphine's muttered warnings about the danger they were about to face. Of course it would be dangerous, they were going to fight a blasted dragon, not a flock of sheep, and when he pointed this out to her she had looked so angry he had thought she would leave them to fight it alone. Instead she rode on, her face set determinedly and spoke no more of it to either of them. Beneath the hands he had placed so gingerly around her waist for stability, Vilkas thought he could feel Myrna shaking inside her armour as she fought to keep her laughter silent.
Being so close to her was an exquisite torture. As much as he tried to keep his eyes on the scenery, to think about just about anything else, the fact was that the woman he loved was here in his arms, her back a hair's breadth from being flat against his chest. Her hood had fallen around her shoulders, the shrieking wind forcing her hair loose from its leather tie so that it flew back into his face. Vilkas could not bring himself to mind, too enraptured was he in the sweet scent of honey and apples... the scent that was her, and had enamoured him from the first time he had sensed it as a wolf. His eyes fell upon her neck, the delicate curve of her shoulder beneath her leather cuirass, the milky flesh that was bared to the sharpness of the wind. The further they travelled into Eastmarch the sourer the weather had become, and as sleet began to fall in spatters around them Vilkas righted Myrna's hood to protect her from the cold.
They were less than half a mile from Kynesgrove when Delphine halted them. She slipped off the back of the mare, indicating that the Companions should do likewise. With stiffness in his legs from sitting so long Vilkas was glad to dismount, turning then to aid Myrna as she alighted from the saddle. The weather had graduated from merely unpleasant to utterly foul, the clouds above dark and ominous as thick flakes of snow fell to earth, coating everything in a blanket of white. The village was still visible owing to the lamps lighting the path, and there was no sign of a dragon at all.
Myrna scanned the sky for shadows, hoping against hope that Delphine had been wrong. Then she heard it. Overhead there came a terrible screech like a blade scraping against a steel shield, a sudden whoosh of air sending snow raining down upon them from the treetops above. Wings. It was here. He was here. She would recognise that awful noise anywhere. Alduin, the great black dragon of Helgen, awaited her in the village... She did not need to see him to know it was so. 'Hi los Sahlo,' Mirmulnir whispered again, taking advantage of her fear and doubt to slink into her thoughts. 'You are weak, Soul-thief, and you will die..."
"Leave the horses," Delphine commanded, snapping Myrna's attention from Mirmulnir's clutches. She had been so close to believing him, fighting an instinct to turn tail and run for her life in the opposite direction. She had thought the horses would do that very thing, but it seemed she had underestimated the horses of Skyrim, for although they pawed the ground nervously the pair stayed close and did not attempt to flee.
Vilkas had drawn his sword the moment he heard the scream of the dragon. Myrna looked up at him from beneath her hood, seeing no fear upon his face, merely grim determination as he followed Delphine's example of hunkering down low to the ground. He glared at the Breton woman expectantly from beneath dark brows, flecked white with flakes of snow.
"It seems your dragon is already awake. What now?"
Delphine answered his scowl with a grin, jabbing the point of her sword in Myrna's direction. "Ask your Dragonborn here. I've never fought a dragon before."
Myrna's heart sank as all eyes turned to her. "I've only fought one before!"
Vilkas heard the note of fear in her voice. Of course she was scared - he was scared too... who would not be, facing a dragon? Stronger than his fear was his desire to fight, to test his sword arm against a beast of legend, to be able to tell his brother that he had stood against a mighty dragon and lived. To hear there was no plan for the battle, however, unnerved him greatly. "And what did you do last time, Myrna?" he asked, trying not to sound as worried as he felt.
"Me? Nothing!" she insisted, clutching at her amulet of Talos with clumsy fingers. "I was part of the guard... We shot arrows at the thing and eventually it fell, then something happened after when it- when I..."
"Took it's soul," Delphine finished for her. She was squinting sharply at Myrna over her beaky nose, as if trying to work out whether she was telling the truth or not.
Myrna jutted her chin out defiantly. "Believe me or don't," she spat. "The thing died quickly once we had it on the ground. If we can destroy its wings, keep it grounded somehow, we might be in with a chance."
"And I'm no archer," Delphine replied. "It's not much of a plan, but it's better than nothing I suppose. I assume the beast is still roosting near the mound. Let us hope the villagers got to the mines in time."
Myrna reached for her bow, locking eyes with Vilkas, who swapped his blade for the longbow at his back. He looked as though he wanted to say something, and Myrna wondered whether he was about to shout at her, or at least make some cutting remark that she knew so little about her enemy. Instead the corners of his mouth turned upwards slightly, a small smile that lifted her spirits and warmed her heart. Vilkas believed in her. He trusted her, and if the Gods were merciful Myrna would not let him down.
Staying low they followed Delphine into the heart of the village. It was eerily quiet, the only signs of life the various assortment of tools left scattered upon the road, abandoned by their owners as they sought shelter in the mines. A cart of cabbages was overturned, and a chicken scuttled past them through the snow, but other than that there was nothing to suggest a dragon attack was imminent. Nothing was on fire. Nothing had been Shouted apart. If they had not heard the screeching themselves, the adventurers might have been forgiven for thinking there was nothing amiss in Kynesgrove at all.
Delphine led them up a hill, and it was there that they saw it. Swooping down amid the dense snow clouds was the unmistakeable shadow of a dragon, heading towards a large mound of stones set into the earth. Apparently it had failed to notice them as it passed and, defying every instinct they had, the trio sunk down even lower on their haunches to creep even closer, to watch and wait.
Myrna's felt fear grip her throat like an icy claw. The advantage of surprise was no comfort to her. To look upon Alduin was akin to looking upon Death itself. Even from such a distance she could see his burning red eyes, the wicked sharpness of his talons and horns, the vastness of his leathery wings as dark as the night sky. If she fought him now and won it would be over, her duty to the world finished. But if she were to lose... the consequences were too terrible to even think of.
Alduin hovered above the burial mound, the beating of his wings sending the snow flying in all directions and providing cover to the warriors as they huddled behind a small stone wall, watching his every move. Still he did not seem to have noticed them. The great dragon screeched again, a sound that was almost deafening in such close proximity; Myrna grit her teeth against the headache that threatened, watching and waiting for her enemy to land at last.
But Alduin did not land. Instead, he began to speak.
"Sahloknir, ziil gro dovah ulse!Slen tiid vo!"
Myrna could not understand what he was saying, even with the knowledge of the Dragon Tongue she had stolen from Mirmulnir. Sahloknir? Phantom Sky Hunt? It made no sense to her, until the second voice answered.
"Alduin, thuri! Boaan tiid vokriiha suleyksejun kruziik?"
The ground began to shudder and quake underfoot as the stones of the burial mound cracked and splintered across their surface. When they finally gave way another dragon emerged, dragging itself from its tomb as if it had hatched from a gigantic egg of earth and rock, fully formed and covered with deadly spikes from snout to serpent-like tail. This, Myrna realised too late, was Sahloknir.
"Geh, Sahloknir, kaali mir." Alduin replied, baring his teeth in what might have been a smile as his new ally spread out and stretched his wings. Then with a roar Alduin took to the sky, swooping in a wide arc over the village and wheeling back again, over the tops of the trees and then down, stopping in mid air a mere fifty feet from where the adventurers were keeping their vigil. Alduin's red eyes glowed bright through the falling snow. There was no hiding from him now. He had seen them.
"Ful, losei Dovahkiin? Zu'u koraav nid nol dov do hi."
The wind from his wings buffeted them, the snow blinding as it fell into their eyes. Myrna forced herself to stand despite her fear, Mirmulnir's whispers loud in her ears. She wanted to run, but she would not. If this was her death, then she would not die cringing like a coward. Holding her bow-hand to her eyes against the snowflakes, she did not need to look to know Vilkas was standing beside her. A small sound to her right told her Delphine was standing with her too.
Alduin's eyes narrowed into slits of red. Myrna felt sure he was about to Shout them to flames, yet instead he spoke in the common tongue. "You do not even know our tongue, do you? Such arrogance, to dare take for yourself the name of Dovah." He bared his teeth at her once more, before issuing his orders.
"Sahloknir, krii daar joorre."
