Guide:

Dwemeris

Thoughts

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4

Chapter Warning(s): Descriptions of burns, injuries, child injuries.

Last time… The city is aflame. The glow is coming from the fires, and the sky roars, choked by the smoke starting to curl from the wooden houses, the ancient battlements. We exchange glances. "We must have been away longer than we thought."

"Too long," I answer, fists clenched at my sides and feeling sick. "Far too long."

Revised: 2-3-2020

Chapter 68 – Feel the Flames

"Whiterun is on fucking fire?" Marcurio howls as we sprint like maniacs along the road, feet pounding against the cobblestones in rhythm with our violently racing hearts. "Do you think it's a dragon attack?"

"I think we should put the damn fire out!" I reply, straining from the effort to just… not slow down. I've wasted too much time, I can't afford to lose another second. Not. A. Single. One.

Marcurio laughs, but it's a desperate, wild sound. "Maybe this will get the Jarl to listen to you! Whiterun's on fire. How? What the fuck are we going to do? Dear gods."

"The gods won't help us now, 'Curio." I manage to quip between pants, and that's the end of our exchange as we run up to the gates of the city, where the stable master and carriage driver are carrying buckets under the rushed orders of some guards, carrying water themselves – like buckets would do much good at this point.

The beggar, whose name I can't remember, runs by, a child's wrist in each hand, most of Whiterun's youngest crying as they try are herded away from the danger by the steel-eyed man, his face twisted in a pained grimace, arms up to the elbows covered in blackened flesh from dragging people out of the flames.

Marcurio bends over next to me as we come to halt near them, hands on his knees and gasping for breath. "So how do we… put out… the fire? It's… far too big…!" He coughs hoarsely and reaches for his waterskin.

I glance up at the flames, still recovering from the run myself, throat already parched and I haven't even Shouted yet.

"The fires? Pray for rain." I admit darkly, eyes not once straying from the plumes of smoke rising above the city. "The people of Whiterun need us more than these buildings do. We have to get as many as possible to safety."

Marcurio looks me in the eye, really looks. It pierces right through me, to the depths of my soul where the guilt runs deepest. He says nothing, lips pursed into a thin line. "What about Odahviing?"

"I-"

"We can't wait any longer Fjaldi."

I give him a mutinous glare. He's right. Of course he's right. My shoulders slump. "But… The people of Whiterun, they…"

"They need you to deliver the final blow to Alduin," Marcurio states, haloed by the burning city and the screams behind him. The vision of a vengeful god. I swallow thickly, eyes too dry from the heat to cry. "They can't wait to prepare a trap. Not anymore. I'll help evacuate the city. You need to go and call that dragon. If you can't defeat Alduin's general, then you sure as Oblivion won't be able to do anything against the bastard himself." He licks his lips, bares his teeth, grabs me by the collar and hauls me close.

"Go." And then his lips, chapped and warm, press against mine in a searing kiss. "Go, my love, and come back to me when it's over. I can take it from here." He tears himself away, and it feels like a blow to the gut when he smiles, feral, power like static and ozone pouring from him.

If I ever had questions as to what the gods look like to mere mortal eyes, I now have my answer. Gods, I love this man.

"Go!" Marcurio cries out once more as he turns away. He doesn't give me a chance to answer and sprints, charging a spell in each hand as he passes through the wide-open gates, passing panicked civilians as they evacuate the city.

The need to follow is almost overwhelming, nearly brings me to my knees with the force of it. But I am Dragonborn. I am Dwemer. I am Listener. And I need to summon a dragon.

Despite myself, my eyes are drawn to Dragonsreach. Everyone is running away, and Whiterun is on fire. A dragon won't deal much more damage at this point.

Dragonsreach.

I ignore the screams of the guards and start running again, a pounding rhythm of left-right-left as my feet hit the searing cobblestones.

The smell and heat hit me all at once. The flames burn through my lungs, every breath turning to torture between one gasp and the next. They are so bright, so intense, I fear they are already licking at my sweaty face, trying to grab at my armor and smother me in their smoke, spiraling ever-higher. Charred flesh and burning wood invade my nostrils, I can taste the ash on my tongue, feel my eyes water.

I have to get to Dragonsreach

Every part of the city has been hit. Dragonsreach is burning, the beams over the bridge like a gate to Oblivion. The sound of my boots is muffled by the screams of the fleeing, the cries of those attempting to douse their homes and save their belongings.

Grabbing the shoulder of Ahlam as she sprints by, her daughter already outside the gates with Brenuin. I force her to face me: "Everybody needs to evacuate the city, now! The children are already outside! I'm summoning a dragon to get to Alduin while Dragonsreach is still standing!"

She freezes up before straightening and nodding, the fire within her eyes as fierce as the flames surrounding us. Nearby, the Drunken Huntsman's roof collapses under its own weight with an almighty groan, Anoriath shouting in surprise as he barely manages to get out of the way.

Lydia ditches her water bucket, having overheard me. "Give us five minutes." She barks, and then the two women are off, Ahlam bodily dragging Anoriath towards the town gates as Ulfberth slings a coughing and bleeding Elrindir over his shoulders. They're covered in soot, tips of their hair shriveled black and clothes torn, skin red with blisters and burns.

It aches.

The pain etched in their faces. The sight of the homes they've lost. I keep running, up the stairs where others rush down, looking at me like I'm a suicidal fool but none daring to stop me.

I could have prevented this. Had I been stronger, had I been faster.

Had I not taken so much time..!

But it's far too late to think about might-have-beens.

I have potions. I have armor. I have two powerful glass axes sharpened enough to cut a hair that falls across it. My dragon-skin gear is only a little scratched and dented. The time is right. All I need is a ride to wherever Alduin has gone into hiding.

The top of the stairs to Dragonsreach is devoid of people and full of flames, the pillars framing the wide-open front doors twisted and blackened, truly like portals to a world of pain and hellfire. I don't see anyone inside, either. A dented, scorched silver cup taps against my foot.

Either both Jarl Balgruuf and Irileth are elsewhere in the city, or the survivors will be digging out their corpses once there's nothing left to burn.

The thought doesn't settle well with me.

Somehow, breathless and dizzy from the gases, I find my way to the stone overlook – the grand porch overlooking the plains of Whiterun and the distant snow-topped mountains.

I take a rattling breath.

I have no plan. I have no time. I have no idea what do feel other than a sense of impending doom. The trap hangs heavy and dangerously tilted above my head, the ropes holding it frayed or missing entirely. I can't rely on traps and tricks to help me here. It's just my voice against a dragon's.

Tinvaak – battle and a conversation at the same time, if I get lucky enough.

I pray. Call out his name and stand back to wait, glass axe in each hand, light from the fires casting visions of nightmares onto the serrated blades. The distant skies are a blue backdrop to the dark and thick smoke rising up towards the ceiling and the clouds, surrounding me on all sides except straight ahead, where my adversary will soon appear. The floor here is stone and wood, and I trust it to remain steady underneath my feet, though my feet don't feel steady at all.

Behind me, there's a loud and tell-tale crashing of floors collapsing under their own weight, the exit probably blocked. There's only one way left to go, and it's a long way down. I don't dare turn my back to the edge of the porch to check.

For a long, agonizing time, I think Alduin's commander refuses to show up. I barely dare to breathe. When I do, it's suffocating, filling my lungs with ash and smoke and I step further out into the open, away from the blazing Dragonsreach. I glance up through the smoke-induced tears in my eyes.

A roar splits the heavens and red wings block out the light of the sun, Odahviing unbothered by the fires in a way only one born form it can be.

Terror and relief wage a war inside me at the sight. I brace myself.

This is my chance.

"DOVAHKIIN! Here I am!"

A/N: Leave a review if you'd like! It's been a long time since I last wrote for this fic so any feedback or comments would be really appreciated!