Noyoki turned her map, trying in vain to see if there was some recognizable error she had made. The road sign had said Windhelm. There was really no feasible way she should be staring at the back of Whiterun's castle—palace—whatever the Nords called it. Yet there it was, looming over the horizon and dominating the view before her, surrounded by sear grass and lit in the wan light of what passed for summer this far north. She sighed, vexed, and rolled the map back up, shoving it into her belt pouch and wishing she had taken Onmund up on his offer to accompany her. He had been practically breathing down her neck for the last few weeks, though, and she had welcomed the respite journeying on her own would grant her. It was her first time out of the College since her joining months ago, when Hadvar had dropped her off and headed back to join the Legion. Truth be told, she had been going a little stir-crazy. She hadn't been in one place for so long since living in Alinor, and summer was the rainy season in Winterhold, which meant lots of slush and generally keeping indoors, and the general grousing and snapping at each other that produced. If anything was going to make her miss life with the Thalmor, it was Skyrim's sorry excuse for a "summer."
Grumbling a little, she trudged up the road toward the city, hoping to find a road sign, and reflecting that she had never seen so many mills in one place before. Was Whiterun the flour capital of Skyrim? Giving the acres of grass a considering look, she wondered if it was actually wheat. There hadn't been a lot of sweeping farmland in the Isles for her to know the difference.
A small boy scampered out into the road before her, skidding to a halt to stare up at her like she was the most outlandish thing he had ever seen in his life. Noyoki smiled reassuringly, and he gave a wan smile back, sticking a finger in his mouth and pulling the blanket he dragged through the dust up to his chest. "Elf?" he asked artlessly.
Shaking her head, she knelt before him, charmed by his chubby cheeks and innocent acceptance. "No. I am a little lost though."
The small lip quivered as round blue eyes widened. "Lost?"
She nodded solemnly, trying not to giggle at how serious the little one looked. "You look a little lost, too. Is that your house?" she asked, pointing to the farm behind them. He nodded, still gazing at her with open fascination. "I'll walk you back," she said, standing and holding out her hand. The toddler took it gravely, and she walked with him slowly back up to the homestead. "Hello?"
"Lars!" A Nord woman with their characteristic blonde hair cut short across her shoulders rushed over from one of the fields. One of the long haired northern cows grazed there contentedly, a cream-colored calf bouncing over to the fence to watch. The calf reminded her quite a bit of the boy—both blond and eager to see the world.
"This little fellow was going on an adventure," Noyoki informed her, releasing the child's hand and watching with an unfamiliar pang as the woman gathered the boy to her. Little Lars immediately began babbling about the funny elf he'd met as she rose, examining Noyoki cautiously.
The girl presented her with her most charming smile, "I'm glad he didn't get too far. He has a ways to grow before adventuring!"
"Indeed," the woman said, still regarding her oddly.
Feeling decidedly awkward under the woman's gaze, Noyoki asked, "I don't suppose you might give me some directions? I got a little turned around trying to get to Windhelm."
The Nord's face cleared, "Windhelm?" she asked in surprise. "You're a long way from there. I don't really know how to get there myself, but if you go to the end of the road here, just after the bridge there is a road sign at the crossroads. Or you could go up to the city and ask the carriage driver. I'm sure he knows."
She sighed, relieved and not bothering to hide it. "Thank you. I don't know how I ended up way out here!" She gave the little boy one last smile, "Be good for your mother, little adventurer!"
Lars smiled shyly at her and hid his face in his mother's shoulder.
"Thank you again," Noyoki told the woman, who nodded in response before watching her walk back to the road. The girl heaved a little sigh: Would she ever get used to how guarded Nords were around, well, anyone? Honestly, she didn't look elven enough for them to think her a Thalmor, and as far as she knew the Nords didn't hate Bretons, which she most resembled.
The road sign was exactly where the woman said it would be, just over a bridge to the south. She squinted at the sign at the crossroads, wondering if every traveler in Skyrim but her had some sort of magical inner guide that told them where to go, since their road signs were the next thing to illegible. A heavy hand falling on her shoulder made her freeze, eyes wide as the guard turned her to face him. "No lollygagging, mage," he warned her, sounding suspicious.
The girl shrugged his hand off, by now accustomed to the strange loathing people in Skyrim held for magic. It was hard to miss in Winterhold, really. She'd long given up trying to get anything out of the townspeople there. "I was just trying to read the sign," she bristled. "I'll be on my way soon enough."
"You'd be better off going into the city," he told her, much to her surprise. "There's a dragon been seen flying hereabouts. The Jarl has called for everyone to get to some shelter."
Noyoki gave him a droll look. "I'll be fine," she assured him. "I'm tiny. Any dragon would have to be looking pretty hard to see me." The guard continued to stare down at her until she began to fidget. "What?" she finally asked.
"How old are you?"
The girl groaned. "What does it matter?"
"You can't be more than twelve."
She scowled, brushing some tickling strands of crimson off her forehead. "I'm fifteen," she informed him sullenly.
Taking her arm, the guard started steering her toward the city. "That's still too young to be out here all by yourself, especially with a dragon about. What were your parents thinking?"
"Let me go! I can walk by myself—the other way!" the girl protested, stumbling a bit as the tall Nord towed her along in his wake. It would be easy enough to break his grip and run, but the last thing she wanted was that kind of attention. "Let go!"
"I cannot in good conscious allow you to continue wandering around with a dragon on the loose," he told her firmly. Noyoki strongly suspected he had younglings of his own for him to have perfected that tone.
"If you haven't noticed, dragons are always on the loose nowadays," she argued. "I'm in no more danger now than I was on the road this morning."
"We hadn't seen a dragon overhead this morning," the guard rebutted sternly, and she sighed, knowing she had lost this argument.
"I don't have any money for the inn," she tried.
"The Temple of Kynareth will take you. If you know any Restoration magic you could even earn enough for the carriage."
She paused, mouth open to frame her next argument, then closed it. That idea actually had merit. At least she wouldn't spend the next few days lost. Honestly, Urag had probably expected her back by now. "I suppose that will work," she said. "Thank you."
The guard actually glanced at her before replying, probably trying to see if she was sassing him. She'd found people were peculiar about manners in Skyrim. The Imperials probably thought them blunt to the point of rudeness, and it was better left unsaid what the Altmer thought of them. "You're welcome."
The air around them abruptly became hazy, and she coughed. "Oh, gods," her misguided companion swore, glancing upwind. "Smoke." Drawing his sword, he glanced back at her. "Go into the city, and do not come out until you hear that it's safe. The temple is right next to the Gildergreen. That's the big tree in the middle of the city. Anyone will give you directions." With that, he raced off into the smoke, the sound of his feet pounding on the cobblestones disappearing as a cry rent the air, shaking the ground slightly so that every blade of grass trembled.
Nokoki stared after him, heart pounding. She knew that sound. That sound had haunted her dreams every night for the last four months. The primal scream of a dragon, low and commanding, and touching something inside her she had been trying desperately not to think about. Glowing red eyes staring at her from a black mask of scales. Fire rising in her soul until it seeped out her skin.
Words just at the edge of understanding.
Unbidden, the sight of the glowing sigils in Bleak Falls Barrow sprang up in her mind's eye. Hadvar had told her the place gave him nightmares as a boy, but she hadn't thought anything of it when the shopkeeper told her where the thieves that had stolen his trinket were. He'd caught up with her halfway through the Barrow, furious with her, but impressed that she had somehow managed to make her way that far into the tomb without waking a single draugr. That he had needed to fight them all to get to her had strongly tempered his approval. When they had finally reached the last chamber, she had fallen into a kind of trance, staring at the arching ceremonial wall and the symbols graven deeply into the stone. If Hadvar hadn't been there, she would have had her head sliced clean off before she even noticed the draugr was awake.
Her steps halted as she realized she was moving, drawn inexorably away from safety and toward the song of the dragon. Noyoki blinked, staring down at her feet as if she had never seen them before. "Idiot," she cursed herself, turning to head back to the dubious safety of the city, only to pause again. Being a city hadn't helped Helgen, and even years training under the Thalmor hadn't prepared her for the carnage the dragon left there. She might be better off finding a place to hide out in the plains, under an overhang of rock or a bridge.
A shadow passed over her, and she froze like a frightened rabbit, head slowly turning to look behind her, following the bit of shade as it traveled south and west. Someone screamed, and a sound very like laughter reverberated through her bones.
She closed her eyes, hands curling into fists as she argued with herself. "Idiot!" she cursed again, turning back to follow the shadow. Her footsteps were light as a bit of tundra cotton, making only a slight brushing noise as they hit the road. The shower of pebbles when she skidded to a halt made quite a bit more noise, but it was lost in the raging, hungry sound the fires before her made as they moved to and fro through the thick black smoke. As she watched, one of the pillars of light lurched to a stop, falling to the ground to become an ordinary blaze, and her stomach heaved as she realized that the pillars of flame were mostly people. The roaring she heard wasn't just the fires, either.
Frost sprung from her palms, enveloping the two pillars nearest her. One turned out to be a tree and she changed her aim, frantically trying to save what was beyond saving.
.
.
Irileth halted at a rock formation that cupped toward the road; good cover for if the dragon swooped by. The watchtower was in ruins, fire undoing stone that had stood for centuries. "Gods," one of the guards muttered, staring with eyes wide through his non-regulation helmet. Given the circumstances, she was willing to let that go. His right hand rose to clutch a Talos Amulet that had been hiding under his gambeson. She'd let that go too.
"Well," she said, surveying the scene, "there's no sign of the dragon, but it sure looks like he's been here." Shaking off the dread that filled her, she turned to take in the pale faces of the guards. In all her years, she'd never thought to see Nords so openly frightened. "I know it looks bad, but we've got to figure out what happened, and if that dragon is still skulking around somewhere." Drawing her sword, she saw them flinch before recalling themselves to their duty, eyes hardening and jaws clenching. Nodding inwardly at their returned valor, she gave them their orders before leading them into the circle of seared grass and tumbled stone that had been their proud watchtower. They were lucky; any later in the summer and the tundra would have gone up in a wildfire only winter could put out.
The carnage shocked even her. She stared, appalled, at the crumpled, pathetic remains of the guards, still burning in some places, in other coated with…frost?
"Irileth!" One of her men pointed toward what remained of the causeway wall. Squinting through the smoke, she made her way over, scarlet eyes widening as she finally discerned what the man was looking at through the billowing clouds of smoke. At first she thought it was a flickering of flame, and it took her a moment to sort out that the brilliant red was someone's hair. A young girl sat in the lee of the wall, sobbing as she tried to force a Healing spell on the Nord laying before her. The smoke trailing up through the eyeslits in his helmet told Irileth all she needed to know about his fate.
The child jumped when the Housecarl knelt before her, placing her hands over the girl's and closing off the spell. Wide, red-rimmed violet eyes shot up to meet hers, and Irileth suppressed a start of her own. Were it not for the white surrounding her irises and pale human skin, Irileth would have thought she was looking at a fellow Dunmer. But the face, triangular as it was, was too round for any elf, and she hadn't the markings of a Ohmes-Khajiit or the eyes of a Bosmer. Breton perhaps? If so, one with more elven blood than in most bloodlines. Truly, Irileth couldn't place her at all, and she didn't like puzzles. Still, there were bigger issues here than the race of one strange child.
"He was trying to look out for me," the girl said dully, and Irileth realized she was speaking of the guard.
"I'm sure he was," the Dunmer said, putting a hand on the girl's shoulder. For some reason the gesture unleashed the mage girl's tears, and the poor thing started sobbing into the front of the dead man's armor. Irileth shifted uncomfortably, unsure how to deal with this and wishing Balgruuf's lady Eivor was there. The woman was brainless as a butterfly, but weeping children she could more than handle. Still, she had been quite ill since delivering little Dagny, and didn't stir about Dragonsreach as much as she used to.
"Housecarl!" Thron called, rushing up to her. "One of the guards was still in the tower. He says the dragon is still around!"
The girl jerked like she had been stabbed, and Irileth rose to her feet, pulling the child up with her. "Get her into the tower. Weapons out, everyone!"
"It's coming back," the child whispered, barely audible even to Irileth's elven ears. Turning her gaze to follow the girl's, she caught sight of the beast rising from an outcropping halfway up the mountain, too far for anyone but another mer to see. Irileth felt rooted to the spot, terror such as she had never felt coursing through her veins. This was a dragon? It was huge! As big as a mammoth, if not larger!
"Kynareth save us, here he comes again!"
"Bows out," she found herself saying. Licking dry lips that tasted of sweat and smoke, she yelled, "Bows out!"
Then the dragon flew over them, crossing a distance of miles in seconds, and the battle was on.
.
.
Noyoki was shoved back into the dubious shelter of the wall, the breath knocked out of her and the stone digging into her back. She shook herself, gazing down at the guard that had tried to get her to safety. Snippets of nightmare and memory flickered across her mind, only to be drowned out in a rush of fire.
Her ward was up in an instant, the pain snapping her back to reality. Digging into her belt pouch, Noyoki downed a healing potion, then a concoction of jazbay juice and salt—particularly vile for that hint of sweetness—that sped up the regeneration of magicka. Staring out passed the flicker of her ward, she caught sight of a round, olive eye with flecks of muddy yellow barely discernable behind the flickering of reflected flame. The stream of heat stopped as a maw as large as she was closed, and the massive head turned to regard her. That inner fire that had been quiescent since Helgen rose up as Noyoki found herself face-to-face with her second dragon.
Compared to her first, he was barely frightening at all.
The dragon laughed—the same laughter she had heard through the smoke earlier—and pushed off from the ground. "Thurri du hin sille ko Sovngarde!" he said distinctly.
"Did you hear that?" one of the men shouted to his comrade, sounding absolutely hysterical, "He said Sovngarde!"
"It didn't say anything; shut up and shoot!"
Brushing off her knees, Noyoki stood, eyes narrowed as she followed the dragon's path through the sky. It was smaller than the black dragon, and didn't harbor the same aura of menace. The wind changed direction, a strong breeze from the north that carried cool air to banish the hot smoke, leaving the dragon exposed to their arrows. The guards fired volley after volley, but very few reached the dragon at all, and those that did barely seemed to scratch it. Her nails bit into her palms as her shaking hands curled into fists.
That thunderous laugh shook the ground again, sending several of the guards stumbling. "Brit grah," the dragon crowed, "I had forgotten what fine sport you mortals can provide!"
.
.
"You must have heard it that time!" the guard insisted.
"Shut up, Korin!" Irileth snapped, stepping backwards slowly as she turned to keep her body facing the wheeling dragon. "We have to get it to land!" Glancing over her shoulder, her eyebrows rose into her ridged brow when she saw the girl standing there, shaking and staring at the ashes at her feet. "What are you doing? Get into the tower! Hide until it's safe to come out!"
"I'm not going to hide," Noyoki ground out, lifting her gaze to meet hers. The Housecarl gaped at the raw fury on the teenager's face, realizing that the trembling in every slender limb had nothing to do with fear. Flames lifted the girl's hair from her shoulders, her eyes blazing purple with orange irises as she snarled, "I am going to slaughter him!"
Irileth staggered back a pace, staring dumbly after the girl with her mouth hanging open as the child raced into the tower, unable to comprehend what she had just witnessed. Was that Ancestor's Wrath? For just a moment, she wondered if they should be more afraid of the strange girl than the dragon.
She wasn't given any more time to think on it. The dragon landed on the wall opposite her, staring down at the soldiers arrayed against it in glee. "You are brave," the creature that should be an unthinking beast declared, "Balaan hokoron. Your defeat brings me honor."
"It sounds just like a Nord…" she thought irrelevantly. The creature drew in a deep breath, and Irileth dove for cover just in time to avoid joining the piteous corpses littering the yard. What could they possibly do against this thing? Nothing seemed to phase it! Panic crept up her throat like cold bile. How could they stand against this? How could anyone?
The dragon's cry shocked her out of her racing thoughts, jerking her head around to witness the dragon flinching in pain, head thrown back as his long neck arched over a glowing rod protruding from his back. A second joined the first, lodging solidly in the plates of the creature's neck, and doing what no other weapon had managed up until this point; drawing blood.
Irileth followed the course of the third arrow, hardly daring to believe that something was actually injuring the thing. She briefly wondered if Sheogorath was sending her visions when she saw the girl atop the tower, standing on the crenelations and shooting straight down into the dragon, Bound Bow in hand. "Magical weapons," she thought numbly, "It must be…" Though it was just as likely that the girl was the first to get a solid shot in, she decided it was best not to test it.
Conjuration wasn't her strongest skill, but Irileth had learned how to summon both bow and sword in case something happened to hers. The cool feeling of the spectral weapon in her hand soothed the heated skin, uncomfortable even for a Dunmer. She hoped her Nord guards were handling it all right. Taking aim, she got off one shot before the beast took to the air once more, its maneuvers more than a match for her skill. She watched impatiently as the dragon circled the tower, roaring in rage fit to bring the edifice down.
Through it all, the girl kept shooting.
.
.
"What do you think you are doing, mal joor?" the dragon demanded, coming to hover before her, each stroke of his wings threatening to send her flying over the edge of the tower. Once again, the glowing symbols from the massive Wall flickered in her mind.
Noyoki took aim once more, right at the dragon's heart. "Killing you," she replied, still in that enraged, deceptive calm that had gripped her ever since she realized the damned beast was toying with them. It drew out their deaths the way the Thalmor did their torture victims, even after they had confessed all they knew.
The arrow flew true, her aim improved by another potion. The dragon roared in rage, sending a burst of flame her way that passed harmlessly around the spherical wards of the Aldmeri style. As the stone melted around her, she strung another arrow, unhindered by needing to hold up the ward as the mages here seemed to require. Skyrim tried to make even her mages into warriors, turning their wards into shields that protected only the front and needed to be held to block.
"Pahlokaal joor. Know the name of your death. Zu'u los Mirmulnir, and it is my pleasure to end your foolish existence!" With that Mirmulnir dove at her, taking her by surprise. Noyoki ducked, rolling into the opening to the tower and down several stairs. The dragon roared his displeasure, but a dark rumbling signaled another laugh. "Hi ru. You are wise to know when you are outmatched, meyus joor."
Digging in her potions satchel, Noyoki grimly downed her last magicka potion, casting an accelerated healing spell. Below, several soldiers hollered insults and taunts at the dragon, but she heard the death cries of at least one when Mirmulnir took his revenge. The anguished voices galvanized her, wrapping her in flame rising from her very skin. Rising, she walked back out onto the tower, gazing down at the guards valiantly hacking away at the armored hide of the beast among them, even when the dragon seized one man in his teeth and shook him like a dog with a rat.
Rage stoked the flames around her, catching even the dragon's attention. She thought she detected a hint of surprise in his inhuman eyes. "MIRMULNIR!" she shouted, her voice holding some unknown quality that made the stones of the tower shiver. In her wrath, she barely noticed.
With another mocking sound of amusement, the dragon rose into the air, wingbeats steady as he hovered once again, simply regarding her as the wind of his wings drove her flames higher into the sky, as if she were one of those human pillars of flames she had failed to save. She backed up until she was in the center of the stone circle, out of the path of his buffeting wings. "What now, little Tongue? Fos yol los daar? Do you seek to challenge my flame with your own?"
Flames whipping about her, Noyoki smiled tightly. "Not exactly what I had in mind," she confessed, then raced across the roof at the dragon. Mirmulnir backwinged frantically, startled at this unexpected charge. The girl leapt across the gap between the crumbling crenelations and the beast, impacting and latching onto the dragon's scales. "Dolok! Release me, joor!" he boomed in affront, wings taking them around the tower once more. Gritting her teeth, Noyoki clung desperately to the armored chest before her, tightening her legs against the ridges holding them against the dragon. Some part of her railed at herself for her stupidity in the back of her mind, but she was too enraged at the dragon's callousness to pay it much heed. Mirmulnir plunged toward the ground, then swept back up into the air, flipping and diving in an effort to shake her loose. "Gaar zey daar kusil!"
Rolling mid-air, the dragon wheeled once again for the ground. This might be her only chance. Digging the fingers of her left hand deeper into the back of the scale, Noyoki released her right hand, turning it so her fist rested, thumb down, over the dragon's heart.
Then she summoned a Bound Sword.
The roar that issue forth was more keen than challenge, and the shallow dive turned into a tumbling fall. Unable to leap free, Noyoki could only cling to the hilt of the Bound weapon protruding from the dragon's chest as he landed on one wing, the bones breaking with a sickening snap, the thin membrane shredding as it was dragged along the ground with the momentum of Mirmulnir's massive body. For a moment they lay there, she unable to let go, he unable to move. Everything was quiet save for the uneven beating of his massive heart under her ear, pulsing through the ethereal sword in her hands. Blood spurted sluggishly around the wound with every fading throb.
"Nid," he said, so softly she could barely hear it. "Nid!" The yellow-flecked eye rolled down to gaze at her over the ridged cheek. "Joor, how?" She stared back, unable to formulate an answer, when the eyes widened, the heart gave a colossal lurch under her. "Dovahkiin: Nid!" Before she could react, the head fell back, Mirmulnir began to burn rapidly, and she yelped, expecting to catch fire, but the flames merged with her own, flowing about her in a swirling dance of light and color before, finally, coming to rest inside her.
Noyoki's mind burned. Pain and pleasure, euphoria and grief, sensations she had no name for caught her up like a current, tossing her about with nothing to hold to, no way to get her bearings. She thought she might have screamed before the Words from the graven Wall once more intruded on her thoughts.
The sigils didn't change, but now she knew what it meant. Oh, yes, she knew force. Force was training day after day until you dropped, for years on end, for fear of what would happen if you stopped. Force was someone having dominion over your entire life, when even your thoughts were not your own. Force was staring into the face of a great black dragon. Force was struggling against the tides of fate, against the whole world, and being pushed down time and time again.
It was the ability to push right back.
Noyoki opened eyes that faced the sky, and pushed back.
"Fus!"
.
.
Irileth raced over to the downed dragon, astonished to see the girl still clinging to the dying creature, the hilt of a Bound Sword emerging from the chest. "She killed it," Thron said in disbelief. "I can't believe it!"
The Housecarl nodded mutely in agreement, then tensed as a flash of heat radiated from the dragon. Throwing her arm out to stop Thron, she commanded "Everyone get back!" Horrified, she could only stare as the creature burst into flames as it died with a strange utterance, a last attempt at revenge to take its killer with it. The girl vanished into the flames. Irileth looked away, angry at the dragon's last, pyric victory.
"By Talos," Thron gasped.
Irileth glanced up at him, startled, then back at the dragon. The girl rose from the gargantuan bones, flames and something like the aurora come to earth dancing around her form, like a pair of ribbon-dancers Irileth had admired in her long passed childhood. The wind went still, stolen to circle the girl, whipping her hair and charred robes about her small frame. Her eyes closed, the mage girl breathed deep, tilting her face upward.
Abruptly her eyes snapped open and she roared at the sky, a short burst but unmistakably the same sort of sound the dragon had made. Irileth found her hand twitching toward her sword before she caught herself. She glanced at her men to see how they were taking this. Thron's face was almost as unexpected as the reappearance of dragons in the first place; the man looked absolutely rapturous. "I can't believe it," he said to the young woman—Irileth doubted she'd ever be able to think of her as a child again—stumbling forward a few steps. "You're…Dragonborn!"
The mage frowned, regarding him with acute puzzlement. "Dragonborn?" she repeated, the word seeming as unfamiliar to her as it did to Irileth. "What do you mean?"
His hand clutching his Talos Amulet so tightly his knuckles were white under the soot, Thron replied, "In the very oldest tales, back from when there were still dragons in Skyrim, the Dragonborn would slay dragons and steal their power." He practically glowed with enthusiasm, and if Irileth hadn't been watching the young woman so closely she might have missed the way she drew back from him. "That's what you did, isn't it? Absorbed the dragon's power?"
She shifted uncomfortably, extracting herself from the remains and carefully putting them between her and Thron, shaking ash from her arms and brushing at her clothes. "I don't know what just happened to me."
"You Shouted," he told her excitedly. "According to the old legends, only the Dragonborn can Shout without training, the way dragons do."
"Dragonborn? What are you talking about?" Svirn broke in as he came over.
"That's right!" another guard declared, snapping his fingers as if remembering something. "My grandfather used to tell us stories about the Dragonborn! Those born with the dragon blood, like old Tiber Septim himself."
The mage's eyes widened as she listened to them, face going pale as they debated whether Tiber Septim had killed dragons. For some reason, being compared to the Dragonborn Emperor seemed to frighten her more than the dragon had. Irileth felt an unexpected welling of pity for the mage girl, and when Thron's enthusiasm overcame his good sense and he started to approach the girl, she decided to rein him in before the man ended up stabbed or set on fire.
"Hmph," she said, quickly stepping between them before the girl could use the dagger she had covertly drawn. "Some of you would be better off keeping quiet than flapping your gums on matters you don't know anything about. Here's a dead dragon, and that's something I can definitely understand. Now we know we can kill them." Eyeing the young mage thoughtfully, she added, "But I don't need some mythical Dragonborn. Someone who can put down a dragon is more than enough for me."
The teenager relaxed slightly, the dagger disappearing as if it, too, had been a Conjured weapon. Thron, however, rolled his eyes slightly—Irileth vowed to put him on cleaning latrines for a month. "You wouldn't understand, Housecarl. You ain't a Nord."
She drew herself up in indignation that was only slightly exaggerated. "I've been all across Tamriel. I've seen plenty of things just as outlandish as this." And survived them, she reminded herself. "I'd advise you all to trust in the strength of your sword arm over tales and legends."
Ignoring her (make that two months latrine duty), Thron actually reached passed her and grabbed the mage's hands, clutching them tightly. The girl shrank back from him as if he were a Daedra. "That was Shouting, what you just did. Must be…You really are Dragonborn!"
Seizing his wrist, Irileth twisted until he released the woman's hands. Thron gazed up at her in shock. "Can't you see your adulation is disturbing the girl? Quit mooning over the child and let her be! We've all been through a lot today, and the day's barely half over." Throwing down his arm, she turned to the girl, waving a hand to indicate they step apart from the others. Mythical hero or not, the young woman looked ready to bolt. Given the state she had been in when Irileth first saw her, the Dunmer was surprised the girl hadn't lapsed into shock.
.
.
Noyoki shivered, resolutely looking anywhere but at the gleaming eyes of the men. Dragonborn? What in Oblivion was that? She knew only one thing; it was trouble, and she wanted no part of it. The adoring way that man had looked at her…no one had ever looked at her like that, and she sincerely hoped no one would again. That was a gaze reserved for leaders and heroes, and those were exactly the kind of people who came under Thalmor scrutiny. Especially if they were supposedly torn straight from a tale. And Tiber Septim was one? The hated Talos they were trying so hard to wipe every trace of godhood from?
Even if they never discovered who she was, they would never let her escape their grasp if this became known.
"I'm Irileth, Housecarl to Jarl Balgruuf," the Dunmer woman told her, breaking into her frantic thoughts, circling in and in on each other like water into a sinkhole, and just as likely to draw her under if she wasn't careful. Noyoki just stared at her, wondering what she was after. She didn't seem to hold this Dragonborn thing in any kind of esteem, so why did she need to talk to her? No one knew her name—she could leave this place and never deal with it again.
"I apologize for Thron," the woman said, surprising her. "He means well, but he's very passionate about his heritage. I'm afraid he thinks of you as a living legend."
"I'm not," Noyoki croaked, throat dry. "I'm nobody."
Irileth nodded. "If that's how you want it, so be it. I'm not about to force a young girl into a life of dragon slaying. If there is one person like you, there may be more. There must be others that can kill dragons."
Noyoki shrugged, not wanting to point out how the men had called her "the Dragonborn" a time or two. As if there were only one, or it was a bloodline like the Septims.
The dragon-blooded emperors, they had been called. Her stomach cramped with anxiety as the thought occurred to her that this might be specifically why they chose that particular Nord to breed to her mother. Had he been a Dragonborn? Did they know? Could they track her if they learned there was a new one? Would they know her identity just from that? Is that why The Bastard had barely put up a fight when they wanted to marry her off to an Imperial noble?
Were they expecting to put their own puppet emperor on the throne somewhere down the line?
Damn, she had some research to do.
"Is…" she swallowed, trying to will her tongue into producing some moisture, "is there somewhere I can learn more about this? I don't want to stay long, just…"
The elf seemed to relax a bit; Noyoki wondered why. "I was hoping you would ask something like that. Our Court Wizard, Farengar, is something of an expert on dragons since he started looking into their return. I also need someone to go up to Dragonsreach and tell them what has happened here. I would see that you had a room for the night, and you can speak with Farengar as much as you like on the subject. I would also like to hear about slaying the dragon from you, if you feel up to tell the tale."
Noyoki shifted, uncertain. It sounded too good to be true. "And…is there a specific duration you are thinking of?" she inquired.
The Dunmer looked faintly shocked after the few seconds it took her to process what the younger woman had said. "We would hardly keep you prisoner! No, stay as long—or as little—as you like, but you'd find answers and a warm bed there. With a door that locks from the inside, if you would like."
Glancing over at the men, she nodded slowly and was rewarded with the Housecarl's relieved smile. She got the distinct impression that such smiles were rare and precious, but then, Dunmer had a reputation for solemnity. Irileth placed a companionable hand on her shoulder. "Would you report this to the Jarl for me? And tell Commander Caius I need more men out here for clean up?"
Noyoki nodded, weary beyond all telling. Absently downing a stamina potion, she took off for Whiterun at a trot, wondering if she were walking into a trap. Normally, it would be child's play to disappear into the wilderness now, since no one was watching her, but Irileth struck her as the kind of woman who examined all the angles. If the Housecarl had wanted to trap her, she would have sent that officious guard along for company. About the time she reached the walls of Whiterun her stamina potion had worn off, and she dragged her feet slightly, telling the first guard she saw what her mission was and letting him take care of the Commander part. As he raced off, she took another plodding step, then felt the whole world buck around her with a massive call that split the cloudless sky with thunder.
"DOVAHKIIN!"
Shaking her head to clear it after a few seconds of mindless incomprehension, Noyoki stared around her. She was the only one standing. Everyone else was on the ground, even the horses had fallen to their knees, shivering and foaming. Dogs barked in the city, and small stones rained down in a series of miniature avalanches all along the wall.
That word. That word again. Mirmulnir had said it as well, and she abruptly realized that it was a title, a Word just as that one she had released into the sky. And it meant Dragonborn. It meant her.
Noyoki walked through the city blindly, completely ignored in the chaos after the call. The castle was at the top, so as long as she was going up, she figured it must be the right way. She paused as she reached a great tree growing up in the middle of a square. The top of it was burnt, jagged black lines arching out in a star point showing where it had been struck by lightning. Withered blossoms, mostly brown, littered the ground underneath it, showing just how recent the damage was. A single instant that changed the tree forever.
She could certainly sympathize with that.
Collapsing on a bench set under the tree, she gazed up through the naked branches to the cerulean sky. Gradually, someone yelling at the top of their lungs intruded on her shock, and she lowered her gaze to see a priest standing in front of the statue of Tiber Septim, and a very illegal Talos shrine.
Talos. Tiber Septim. Dragonborn.
Noyoki had never paid much attention to Talos. He was a false god and his worship was an affront to the Altmer and stood in the way of their ultimate goal. Now, she considered him anew. He didn't look much different than any other Nord. The dragon he stood on was tiny, and she couldn't help but wonder what he would have thought if he saw her today, standing amongst the bones of a beast far larger than herself. Better yet, just let him deal with this "legendary hero" nonsense. The statue was grand, and loomed over the square just like gods loomed over the mortal world.
Now she took a moment to wonder—just what powers had Talos possessed?
The man was a Dragonborn, and men had worshiped him as a god. Yet a Dragonborn got their power from dragons, and there were no dragons in his time. Imagine if he were to somehow appear now. How much would his abilities grow by being able to steal the power of dragons, in addition to his personal power?
The Thalmor would never have dared go after him.
Noyoki paused, actually forgetting to breathe for a moment. Everyone knew who a hero was, yes, but everyone also noticed when a hero went missing. There were so many human targets that the Thalmor could never move against openly, and she had been raised as a covert agent—she could spot another Thalmor agent a league away! Was this truly the answer to her problems; not obscurity, but luminary? Yes, she'd be a target, but she was one already, and the last year of hiding had made her weary.
Brushing herself off as she rose, she decided to mull it over for a bit before making any decisions. Her entire life had been turned upside down yet again, and she barely knew anything about this Dragonborn thing…although there was that book she had swiped from Helgen that she had barely understood.
Filled with new purpose, Noyoki headed up the stairs to Dragonsreach. Young One, Dragonborn; was one as much of a cage as the other? She'd had her fill of being caged. Pausing just outside the door, she glanced back at the tree, wondering if it would ever bloom again. All the petals had fallen, and the branches blackened. Still, it had survived.
So would she.
With that thought, she resolutely turned from the sunny summer day, and ducked into Dragonsreach and whatever future awaited her there.