Even though they knew it would do well to hasten their journey to Whiterun, the four adventurers did not set out from Riverwood until mid-afternoon the following day. They returned the golden claw to Lucan Valerius, Gwynileth took a few apprenticeship lessons with Alvor on how to blacksmith, Inigo had an archery competition with the Bosmer, Faendal… and then they were on their way.
If Gwynileth had not witnessed the dragon attack firsthand, she would've laughed if someone had told her how chaotic the previous day had been. The weather during their short journey north was nothing short of delightful; it had Lucien and Inigo pointing out clouds and humming with one another once again. A few wolves attempted to intercept their path, but Kaidan and Gwynileth were able to stop them dead in their tracks. Despite heading north, there was no snow, no harsh wind… it was truly a peaceful day.
Gwynileth's lips twisted. It almost seemed like Skyrim was mocking her for her decision to leave the country in favor of its southern neighbor.
When they reached the city of Whiterun once again, however, they were startled to note that the great oaken doors were not standing open. They were sealed shut, guarded by no less than three elite guardsmen.
Upon seeing the adventurers approaching, the guard in charge stepped forward and in a commanding voice, exclaimed, "Halt! The city is closed with the dragons about."
"We have news about the dragons," said Gwynileth, gesturing towards the south. "We come from Riverwood… and from Helgen, which now lays in ruin."
"Ah. Then please, enter. But be cautious during your stay—the world's going mad these days," replied the guard. With one swift nod, the other soldiers began creaking open the gates… and then Gwynileth, Kaidan, Lucien, and Inigo were granted entry, with the guardsman's words of, "Please go speak to the Jarl as soon as possible to inform him of what you know," following after them on their way.
Even though they had visited Whiterun only a few days prior, the wariness that had settled around the city made it feel like an entirely different place. Everywhere Gwynileth looked, the townspeople she had met were whispering to one another, glancing fearfully up to the skies. It was clear the news of Helgen had spread even faster than she had anticipated.
The people seemed to part for Gwynileth and her friends as they passed. Perhaps it was because they knew of their adventures; perhaps it was due to any lingering ash or burn markings upon their armor. No matter what it was, it helped them to reach Dragonsreach before a quarter-hour had passed.
They had not visited the Jarl's palace during their first visit. Even on the outside, the castle was magnificent. The detail of wooden filigree upon the beams was exquisite, the craftsmanship was impeccable… Gwynileth had seen many fine buildings during her adolescence in Morrowind, but none of them commanded the same awe and power that Dragonsreach did.
Its interior was even more impressive. Rugs of soft cotton covered the wooden flooring. Large dining tables suited to fit a dozen people on one side were positioned ahead of the grand throne, upon which a regal-looking man with long blond hair and rigid posture was sitting.
"The Jarl of Whiterun!" whispered Lucien with delight. "Jarl Balgruuf!"
As Gwynileth continued towards the throne, she eyed the Whiterun Hold's lord with narrowed eyes. She had grown adept at reading the faces and postures of ruling lords and ladies due to her aristocratic upbringing, and she wondered what she would find within his expression.
There were a few lines to his face, which was not old, but not young. His eyes were a deep blue, the kind written of in tales of twilights and oceans. His garb was much simpler than those of the nobles in Morrowind: cotton shirt, embroidered with golden thread, but no extra jewels save for the circlet positioned across his forehead and his blond hair. Gwynileth figured he only wore it because it was the symbol of his authority and station, based on how plainly he had decided to dress otherwise.
Men who chose to embrace humility rather than egoism were either extraordinarily good men… or extraordinarily evil ones.
Standing next to the throne were three others: a man with dress that screamed of Cyrodiil, a larger man with a traditional Norse beard and weapon, and a Dunmer woman who wore simple leather armor, but who carried herself with sharp grace.
"Who is it that approaches the throne of Whiterun?" asked the Dunmer woman. Her scarlet eyes glared daggers at Gwynileth—though upon realizing her as a fellow dark-elf, the skepticism melted to a slight degree.
"Come now, Irileth. Don't be so harsh to our guests." The Jarl of Whiterun's voice was deep, robust; it echoed off of the wooden beams to fall into Gwynileth's ears a second time. "I received a crow from the men at the gates. They said that adventurers would soon be arriving… adventurers with news of Helgen."
Gwynileth nodded and curtsied as she had been taught to do in her home country, hoping that it would not be seen as disrespectful in such a different place. Her eyes upon the carpets on which she knelt. "We are those adventurers, sire. We were present when the dragon attacked."
Jarl Balgruuf chuckled. The sound was warm. "Rise, my friend. I will request no special fealty from you when you are doing me such a service."
She returned to standing, a small smile upon her face. It was not often that a lord would so easily dismiss displays of power like Gwynileth had been giving him. With a slight tip of her head, she replied, "My thanks, Jarl Balgruuf. We have come here from Riverwood, and from Helgen there before. The latter village now lies in smolders, the criminal responsible being a great black dragon with scales as hard as diamonds, and eyes as red as burning coals. It flew off before we could even begin to attack. Of Helgen's residents… only two children survived its desecration."
Low grumbles of concern sprouted from the men accompanying the Jarl with these last few declarations. Gwynileth could feel their unease from their stances alone… she bit the inside of her cheek. The nobles and their courts were apparently not as concerned with hiding their emotions as the nobles of Morrowind were.
"Thank you for this report," said Jarl Balgruuf at last. "Where might the dragon be heading now? Did you note its flight pattern?"
Gwynileth glanced backwards, for she had not noticed its direction.
Lucien cleared his throat and stepped forward, bowing before the Jarl as he did so. "It flew in the direction of the sun, Jarl—and our time of arrival was early in the afternoon. We suspect it went in the direction of Riverwood. Their blacksmith, Alvor, humbly requests soldiers to protect their village!"
"Riverwood?" exclaimed Balgruuf, his eyes widening. He whirled towards the man with clothes from Cyrodiil, the man with greying hair. "Proventus! Send a squad of soldiers to Riverwood immediately! If the dragon is already there…"
He did not need to finish his sentence. The man named Proventus nodded swiftly and was off, as fast as his feet could carry him.
With this finished, the Jarl turned back to Gwynileth, a warm smile upon his face. "You have done me a great favor by bringing me such information, my friend. Might I inquire after all of your names?"
One by one, they relayed their names: Inigo, Kaidan, Lucien Flavius from House Flavius of the Empire of Cyrodiil. Gwynileth hesitated for only a moment before relaying her full name and title: Gwynileth Nerussa, Heiress to House Nerussa of Morrowind.
If she was to leave Skyrim soon, leaving her full name within the country's borders might throw any pursuers a red herring, and cause them to explore Skyrim more thoroughly before attempting to search anywhere else.
Once their names were relayed, Jarl Balgruuf approached Gwynileth and held out one muscled, scarred hand. The intent was clearly for a handshake.
Gwynileth took the offering and shook once, surprised by how warm he was.
"I may have further need for your services, Lady Nerussa," he declared. While there was a twinkle within his eye, his tone of voice was quite serious. "My court wizard, Farengar, has been looking into the resurgence of the dragons. He has been looking for a stone tablet located within a nearby ruin: that of Bleak Falls Barrow."
She blinked at the name and, instead of responding, dropped her pack at her feet. Ignoring the startled look upon the Jarl's face, she dug within the many pockets—and then she withdrew the stone tablet, much to his unhidden shock.
"We fancy ourselves good adventurers!" exclaimed Inigo.
The Jarl took the offering from Gwynileth's hands, though she had to admit… she was slightly loath to part with it. She had not forgotten the swirling lights, the strange familiarity she felt with the runes carved within the stone… and if she gave it away, there was no telling she would receive any answers for what she had seen.
Still—people in Skyrim were suffering at the claws of dragons.
Gwynileth placed the tablet in his hands with the soft words, "It is heavy."
Before he could even begin to reply, the door to Dragonsreach burst open. A soldier sprinted across the carpets, past the tables bountiful with food, and rested at the Jarl's feet. His breathing was labored as he cried, "My Jarl… a dragon has been spotted at the watchtower!"
A hush fell over the throne room.
Jarl Balgruuf broke the disquiet by turning towards the four adventurers and asking, "How accurate are your arrows?"
Gwynileth's mouth dropped open; she stared helplessly back towards Kaidan, who had been her instructor, who had been the one she turned to whenever she did not know what to do.
Kaidan placed a hand upon her shoulder and met the Jarl's eyes. "Accurate."
"Then… I may request yet another great favor from you, unfair though it may be for me to do so. I will need your assistance in slaying this dragon," sighed Balgruuf. His eyes revealed the regret accompanying his words; for that reason, Gwynileth took a deep breath and composed herself again.
"You are the only ones with prior experience to a creature such as this," continued the Jarl. "Should—no, when you return to us victorious, I will see you handsomely rewarded. All four of you."
While the gold was certain to be helpful for restarting her life—again—Gwynileth was yet uncertain. The dragonfire was still hot upon her back, the screams of innocent people fresh in her ears. If this next dragon was anywhere near as powerful as the first, the battle ahead was certain to be hard-fought.
But then she felt Kaidan squeeze her shoulder. She glanced back, still unsure… and her doubts began melting away. Where she was unsure, Kaidan was resolute; where she was worried, he was confident.
"We have the ability, so long as we stick together," he murmured, low enough for only Gwynileth to hear. "You have become stronger. The Jarl's men will be with us. For the people of Whiterun… I believe we need to fight."
For the people of Whiterun.
The last of her fear vanished. Gwynileth nodded. "All right. So long as you're with me… I will run into the fire."
"And glad I am to hear it!" boomed the Jarl's voice, so suddenly that the Dunmer woman gasped and leapt into the air. "We will need people of your caliber if we are to be successful, I'm sure."
Gwynileth smiled dryly at his enthusiasm, but said nothing more. Meanwhile, Inigo was giggling and preemptively withdrawing his bow, while Lucien was whimpering and exclaiming, "A dragon? We're actually going to go fight a dragon?" behind her.
Within moments, the Jarl had sent them forward with his housecarl, the Dunmer woman named Irileth. She led them towards the gates, picking up as many soldiers as she could along the way—and they hastened forth.
The townspeople's eyes followed them as they passed. They did not bother attempting to hide their somber moods; such gloom sent shivers down Gwynileth's spine. She could not help thinking whether this would be the state of Skyrim for many years to come… hopeless and fearful at the hands of creatures once thought to be myths, with no one able to help or save them. If so… then she pitied them. That was a sad fate.
They exited the great gates of the city and ran into the plains. The lavender and cotton plants reached out to brush Gwynileth's shins as she passed.
"All right," said Irileth at last, stopping ahead of a large boulder. The watchtower was positioned directly ahead of her; it was already smoking. Some of the stone had been knocked off of its roof and onto the grassland below. "We're going to need to exercise extreme caution. It looks like the dragon has flown off for now, but he's certainly been here. Take inventory of the situation as quickly as you can. Let's go!"
Gwynileth took a deep breath and prepared to follow orders—
"Whatever you do, stay within my line of sight," said Kaidan, leaning close to her ear. "I will do what I can to protect you."
She smiled at him, at the faint worry-lines in his face. "Thank you… Kaidan. Let's hurry."
With Inigo and Lucien hot on their heels, they raced towards the watchtower. There was no movement from within, no torches or shouts for help from the soldiers who had been positioned there. Some of the grass was singed, spreading a horrid smell of burnt hair and ash. A few large piles of soot lay upon the ground—when Gwynileth leaned closer to see what was poking out of the piles, she immediately gasped and lurched away.
Fragments of scorched bone.
She began running towards the entryway of the watchtower. Upon seeing the unceremonious end that the soldiers of Whiterun had been met with, she was desperate for a sign of survivors. Surely not all of them had met the same fate?
When she reached the doorway leading into the fort, she breathed a sigh of relief. Crouched in the darkest corner was one of the soldiers. His helmet was missing, and his arms were wrapped around his legs in the fetal position… but when he spotted Gwynileth, he let out a gasp of horror and hissed, "No, wait! It… it's still here somewhere! It was waiting for reinforcements—as though it still hungered!"
Gwynileth's eyes flew wide. She raced outside to shout this warning, but too late; a great roar had already split the air, shaking the foundation of the tower itself. Over the far horizon, a silhouette was approaching: slowly but surely, it grew larger and larger in the sky, heading straight in the tower's direction.
"Here it comes!" bellowed Irileth, waving an arm. "Form ranks! Make every arrow count!"
The soldiers withdrew their bows. Gwynileth was among them, resting her fingers upon its solid string, an arrow poised atop her fingers—
The dragon was upon them before she could even blink, blowing a cone of fire towards the first of Whiterun's defenders. Screams filled the air; some of their armor caught fire, while some were just barely able to dive out of the way of its breath.
Kaidan pointed his weapon towards the belly of the beast. One of his arrows was lodged in its softer skin. Inigo was quick to follow his lead, and Gwynileth would not let herself be left behind.
What chills had run down her spine were gone, replaced by the same fire and determination she had been consumed by when rushing into Helgen. For all of her life, Gwynileth had been one of the helpless. Even though she was a noble—even though people looked up to her to protect them.
For the first time in her life, she was genuinely in a position to defend others… the way a noble should always be.
She loosed arrow after arrow, using all of the training that Kaidan had given her. Instincts took over; Gwynileth utilized the shelter of the watchtower, blocking fire and smoke alike. Her breaths were deep, calm: when she focused as such, each of her attacks found their mark. There was no denying that she had indeed become stronger.
It also became obvious that the dragon was not immune to the effects of her arrows—the great lizard eventually faltered in the air, its wings punctured by arrows and Lucien's icicle spikes. With a roar of pain and anger, it descended to the ground, staggering many of the soldiers with the force of its landing.
Gwynileth put away her bow in favor of her blade; many of Whiterun's people were in no position to take the front lines, and so she put it on herself to do so. Inigo and Kaidan stood beside her as well, nodachi and ebony blade already at the ready.
Upon seeing three people advancing, the dragon began backing up—
"Inigo!" cried Gwynileth. "Are you able to flank it?"
"You got it, my friend!" he shouted back. Inigo sprinted forward, evading the dragon's attempts to crush him underfoot, and began hacking at the backs of its ankles with maniacal laughter.
This left Gwynileth and Kaidan with the arguably more difficult position of the fight, yet she was not afraid. There was an unusual confidence flowing within her veins, as though this dragon was not so difficult to fight, as though she had in fact fought one before.
She swept towards its talons, steel blade glinting wickedly in the fading sunlight; her sword cut through its scales and nails like paper. The dragon reared backwards with another roar. The depths of its throat burned orange—
"No!"
Gwynileth flinched away from the blast, but there was no heat breathing down her neck. She blinked and looked forward to see Lucien had dove ahead of her, a ward splintering and fracturing at the pressure of the hellfire.
Right when she was afraid Lucien's spell would be overwhelmed, Kaidan's voice bellowed, "'Ey! Over here, you great worm!"
Lucien released the spell and crumpled to his knees; Gwynileth seized him before he could hit the floor, all of her bravado forgotten. "Lucien!"
Noting the state of his companion, Kaidan leapt forward and drew the dragon's attention by cutting a significant wound across its maw. The next sound that emerged from the dragon's mouth was more reminiscent to a whimper than a roar; its great yellow eyes whirled to Kaidan. It opened its jaw—
Kaidan lodged his nodachi within the dragon's mouth, positioning it so securely that it couldn't close its mouth without puncturing itself.
Gwynileth gasped as Kaidan withdrew his bow again. She remembered how important that blade was to him. It was his mother's blade, the only clue he had to his heritage—
"Are you all right?" she nearly screamed to Lucien.
The Imperial nodded grimly. "I think I'm fine… just exhausted…"
She did not need to hear any more. The dragon was weak enough to finally be killed—Gwynileth didn't know how she knew that, but she did, and she knew that it was time to finish the battle.
The dragon was swaying its head, struggling to dislodge Kaidan's nodachi from within its mouth. Gwynileth took a deep breath and waited for an opportunity… she saw it like a thread among the battlefield. Then she jumped.
"Gwyn, no!"
It was too late to stop what she was doing even if she wished to. Gwynileth flew through the air, landing hard upon the dragon's neck. Her hands wrapped around one of the many horns upon its head. Summoning all of her strength, she hauled herself into standing, straddling its thick neck—and she plunged her own blade through the roof of its mouth.
She was rewarded by an ear-splitting shriek. Gwynileth withdrew her blade, covered in flecks of skin and plenty of crimson blood, and thrust it downward again.
There was no scream this time… only a low gurgle as the dragon choked upon its own blood. A glassy sheen settled over its eyes, and the deadened creature fell to the ground, sending Gwynileth tumbling off of its neck and into the charred grass below.
Puffs of dust and smoke filled the air, blinding those who had survived for a long, tense moment. Gwynileth groaned as she began to sit up, feeling as though she had bruised or possibly even broken a rib in the fall. After rubbing her eyes, she glanced around… and grinned slightly to see Kaidan's nodachi laying in the grass next to her, unbroken, unchipped: in pristine condition.
"Gwyn! Where are you?"
Gwynileth coughed some of the smoke from her mouth. "I'm here, Kaidan."
Not even another second passed before he was there, amber eyes wide and full of relief. He dove next to her, shock fully upon his face. "What was that stunt? Diving directly towards the dragon? What in Oblivion was that for?"
She blinked in confusion, her head cocking sideways. With great care, she pressed the hilt of his blade back into the palm of his hand. "It was weak. And your sword… it's the only thing you have left of your heritage, isn't it? I… didn't want it to be destroyed."
Kaidan was silent. Still.
Then he began to laugh. Strong arms wrapped around Gwynileth's body so tightly she was forced to gasp for breath. If her ribs weren't bruised before, they certainly were now.
"Don't ever risk your life for something like that again," said Kaidan, his voice thick with gratitude and lingering laughter. "It's true, this was my mother's. But it's still just a blade. A blade can be replaced… but you never could be."
He placed one hand against the side of Gwynileth's face, this thumb lightly trailing along her cheekbone. A rush of silver began to fill her face, drawn short of breath due to how close he had become. There was a large part of her subconscious that suggested for her to fill in the remaining distance between them, but…
"My friends! Are you okay?"
Inigo burst through the smog, coughing and waving his paws exaggeratedly. When he saw Gwynileth and Kaidan kneeling upon the ground, he sighed and exclaimed, "Thank the gods! I thought that you had both become dragon chow!"
Gwynileth giggled at his words, but she was cut short from her laughter upon remembering the state that Lucien had been in when she'd left him. Her face paled. "Lucien! Where are you?"
"Bleahhhhh…"
She scrambled to her feet, kicking up extra dirt in her haste to locate her magical friend. He was not hard to find, seeing as there was a small shield summoned around him to prevent dust and smoke from reaching him. The moment that Gwynileth appeared, however, the spell fell apart.
"I used… so much… mana," Lucien panted. He did not protest Gwynileth's assistance in sitting him up. "Tomorrow is a day off… for sure."
The Dunmer laughed and wrapped her arms around him, her eyes beginning to spike sharply. "Oh, Lucien… if not for you, I would've been burned to death. Thank you so much."
"Really?" asked Lucien, sounding surprised. "I… helped?"
She giggled again and rested her cheek upon the top of his head. Lucien normally took such pride in personal hygiene, but considering the battle they'd just had, his hair was full of ash pieces and grass tufts. That was all right, though. Gwynileth didn't mind.
"Yes, really. You saved my life."
Lucien exhaled, loud and slow. Even though Gwynileth could not see his face, she could feel him smiling as he replied, "Oh, well… good, then. I'm glad!"
"Roll call!" shouted Irileth's voice. "Who is still standing after all of that?"
Gwynileth seized Lucien's arm and draped it around her shoulder, assisting him in standing again. Once it was gathered that all four adventurers were alive and well, they trekked out of the smog to regroup with Irileth.
The Jarl's housecarl and five others were standing, including the man that had been hiding within the first round of the watchtower. There had been a dozen soldiers prepared to fight the dragon… that meant that three good men had died. Whether they'd been trampled, burned, or eaten, Gwynileth could not say. A lump appeared in her throat at the realization that they likely had families waiting for them at home…
"Everyone all right?" asked Irileth, her red eyes scouring the scene.
Gwynileth nodded and opened her mouth to speak, but she was suddenly cut off by a number of gasps and exclamations of shock from the men ahead of her. They began pointing to the dragon's body behind them—
A stone fell deep within her stomach. She glanced over her shoulder expecting to see the dragon still alive and getting back to its feet, but what she saw wasn't that. What she saw was a rainbow of color and light, swirling into great patterns in the air; they were descending directly towards her.
Gwynileth staggered backwards, nearly falling over in the grass with Lucien… but when the lights touched her skin, she did not feel any pain. It was similar to the previous night, looking at the wall—a great surge of power was flooding her body, opening up potential. It was as though a piece of her heart had just been freed from confusion and doubt, making way for strength.
As quickly as the spectacle had started, it was over. The lights dissipated, the feeling of renewal faded away… Gwynileth turned back to Kaidan, figuring that he wouldn't likely know what had just happened, but hoping that he did all the same.
Much to her surprise, he was gazing at her in something reminiscent to reverence. All of the soldiers were.
"Gwyn…" Kaidan swallowed hard. "I think… you're the Dragonborn."