Chapter 44: Not Yet
After Hadvar and I had redressed, Legate Rikke and the legion of Imperial officers the General had left in our room escorted us from the Frostfruit inn. We were a solemn party, and had it not been for the General's use of the word please before he had stormed off, I might have assumed I was under arrest.
In sheer contrast to our sobriety, the continued merriment of the soldiers' celebrations from the nearby encampment were easily discernible in the distance.
We maintained a swift pace as we approached the garrison, and the closer we drew to the valley it was nestled between, the higher my anxiety for Lydia built. I was desperate to confirm that she was all right in the wake of Giselle's escape, and told myself again and again; she was only paralysed. Whoever had broken my sister out of her prison, if she had had any help at all, hadn't just killed my housecarl offhandedly.
Which frankly, didn't make any sense if Stormcloak and his followers were involved, which is why, I reasoned, that I grew more and more nervous about seeing Lydia for myself. Why would Stormcloaks take her and leave Imperial soldiers, or anyone questioning their General, alive? How close had I come to loosing my dear friend that night?
And in the wake of my sister's escape – what did the General want with us? Why summon us to his tent, particularly if he did not want me involved in Legion affairs? He had seemed to accept my oath that I had not helped Giselle, or he might have seen a need to detain me. Instead, he had begrudgingly asked us to join him – which could only indicate that he needed my – or Hadvar's – help.
Out of nowhere, resolutely cutting off my inner musings, the sky roared. The sound repeated on itself; growing dimmer each time as it echoed.
I stilled and grabbed Hadvar's arm as he reached for mine at the same time. We held each other back as our entourage faltered and exclaimed around us, drawing their swords and unshouldering their bows.
I listened as my heartbeat thumped noisily in my ears, and then realised; it wasn't the Legion's celebrations that we were hearing. It was screaming, their urgent calls to one another, as they fought off...
"Nahagliiv fen du mali sil!"
Fury-burn-wither will devour your little souls, rasped through my mind. It was followed by a horrific, bestial scream of indignation.
Fury-burn-wither, I wondered apprehensively?
Hadvar and I stared at one another in shock. His eyes were wide and face was pale, and only in part from the reflected light of Secunda.
"Strun Bah Qo!"
Prior to the dragon's shout, my face must have mirrored Hadvar's, but as the words storm, wrath, lightning pushed through my head with a whoosh I was spurred into action. I released Hadvar and whirled back around, running toward the encampment with my eyes trained on the heavens.
"It's calling a storm!" I cried out to my companions.
"It's what?"
I didn't bother answering whichever of the officers had asked; the evidence was forming before our eyes. Secunda was quickly veiled by a thick, surging blackness.
But of course. A dragon who could create a thunderstorm with its voice was all this ridiculously long day needed.
A wall of rain appeared as suddenly as the clouds had, and we were drenched in seconds as it gushed over us. Through the blur of the downpour, and the darkness of night, I caught glimpses Hadvar, Legate Rikke and the ten soldiers who accompanied us running alongside me.
I watched the dense, roiling clouds that had formed over the valley as they spread out, trying to catch a glimpse of the dragon that I knew was at the centre. A spear of lightning crashed to the ground, illuminating the beast's form for a second; its body vertical, it's wings outstretched, and its head turned down, observing all below. The lightning crackled and shook the very earth as its impacting BOOM echoed around the valley. I squinted reflexively so that I might not be blinded by it, but the silhouette of the dragon was gone.
I reached back for my bow and an arrow and felt the blood drain from my face when my hands grasped at nothing. Oh. I had left my weapons in my quarters earlier, and had not taken them to the Frostfruit inn. The war had been won and I had been going to dinner; I had not thought I would need them.
Cursing, I yelled over the crashing of the freezing storm; the taunting screeches of the dragon and the hum of the soldiers who were caught up in the epicentre as we rounded the final corner on the road and entered the site of our newest battle.
"I need a bow!"
Our party drew to a hasty halt and Legate Rikke passed me hers without a word. It was already nocked with an arrow. I darted off immediately, registering that the Legate was unstrapping her quiver too, but I reasoned that she would either catch up with us, or I would simply use whoever's arrows I could come by.
There was already an abundance of arrows whizzing into the clouds in every direction, though I wondered what the soldiers were firing upon; there was no way to see the dragon around the storm it had unleashed.
Hadvar grabbed my arm and dragged me sideways with a swift motion, into one of the tents. The stiff, waterproofed canvas offered shelter from the worst of the freezing rain, though the force of the battering outside had created tears and subsequent leaks along some of the seams.
I leaned around the door flap and glanced up to the sky, but an urgent tug to my arm drew me within our shelter again.
"Stay back for now – please," Hadvar panted in a husky rush, grabbing a bow and a handful of arrows from the table within the tent. Hadvar was armed with his sword, even while off-duty it seemed, but he had not brought his bow to the inn with us either.
He stepped purposefully, protectively in front of me and peered out into the darkness, squinting through the rain. I stared at him, catching my breath, incredulous and silenced by his request. His eyes were on the sky when he spoke again, in a mutter, "This is not the first dragon that the Legion has danced with. Let us see what we are dealing with."
I opened my mouth to counter – this was not my first time facing a dragon, either, and I was the sodding Dragonborn! – but Legate Rikke reached our position at that moment, bolted into our tent, and pushed her quiver into my chest.
"Good," she assessed our cover with a brief nod to Hadvar. "I don't need to tell you to keep her safe. Once it's over, proceed directly to the General's tent."
"Aye," Hadvar replied swiftly, his eyes flickering over the skies above as another incomprehensible screech bounced between my ears. He winced, then added, "Though it might take us a little longer than ten minutes to get there."
Rikke cast the sky a wary glance. "Pray that this one is smaller than the one at Lake Yorgrim," she murmured under her breath, before dashing off.
The heavy rainfall consumed her form in seconds.
"Lake Yorgrim?" I turned to Hadvar in awestruck horror as the memory of Vilkas and I escaping from the Nightgate inn assailed me. The Legion – Hadvar – had fought a dragon there? When? "How many dragons have you fought?" I choked out.
"A few," Hadvar murmured tightly, clearly distracted. "There you are," he muttered darkly, and swiftly took a step out of our tent to fire an arrow into the night's sky.
"Fo Krah Diin!"
The shout was deafening; far too near for comfort, and frost, cold, breeze whistled through me in time with the dragon's shout.
"Get back!" it was my turn; I grabbed hold of Hadvar and dragged him back into the tent. No sooner had I shifted him from the entryway than a pale gust of spindly ice flakes whirled in and bleached the canvas behind where he had been standing.
"Thanks," his eyes were focused on the frost as he reached back swiftly for another arrow. "How did you know-?" he moved to take up his previous position again.
"Mal dovahkiin! Nahagliiv hon him sahlo slen motaad!"
"No!" I stressed, turning him back urgently. The words little dragonborn, fury-burn-wither hears your weak flesh tremble caused me to pause and clench my eyes closed in an effort to push its words out of my mind. Over the sounds of the thunderstorm, I could hear the dragon's wings whooshing as they beat steadily. He was very close, and circling us.
"Bo; kriist us Nahagliiv!"
The dragon cried out again; relentless in its mocking, but its words; come; stand before fury-burn-wither, made my eyes fly open. I glanced toward the exit to the tent in shocked realisation. Nahagliiv was the dragon's name.
"What is it?" Hadvar asked hurriedly.
I shuddered as I turned Hadvar to me and met his wide, wild eyes. I told him through a shaking voice, "It – he knows I'm here. He wants me to go to him," I added in a rush. "We have to get out of here."
His brows furrowed and mouth opened. "You can-?"
THUD.
Before he could say any more the earth rolled beneath our feet. It wasn't from a bolt of lightning, but an enormous weight, crashing to the ground. We clung to one another, our eyes flying back to the world outside of the tent. A gust of wind; no, a shockwave from the impact, pushed against us.
He had landed, I realised in horror. And, unlike the other dragons I had encountered, this one, this Nahagliiv, appeared to be after me.
"We have to go, now!" I screamed.
Hadvar didn't need to be told again; we raced toward the back of the tent, diving for the base of the canvas and clawing it up to create a gap, as Fo Krah Diin was hissed again, from directly behind us.
The frost of his shout bit through my leggings and then my skin, where my armour didn't protect it, but I grit my teeth and bore the stinging, freezing burn as Hadvar and I squeezed underneath the side of the tent.
The teeming rain blurred the forms outside of the tent, but there was no mistaking the sound of the dragon's scream of rage, as what must have been arrows fired by the nearby Legionnaires found their mark. Their target had landed; of course they had taken advantage. The battlecries of the many followed as a faint, faraway din, muted by the cold rain, as Hadvar and I scrambled to our feet. Before I could turn to help those fighting, Hadvar grabbed my arm and bolted in a straight line, in the opposite direction to the dragon, leading us behind the row tents.
"You have to let me go!" I cried desperately as I tried with futility to pull out of his firm grasp. If the dragon could hear me, sense me, then it would follow us, no matter where Hadvar took me. "I have to face him!"
The whoosh of the dragon taking off pushed against us, even through the rain and from behind the lines of canvas. I glanced back hastily to see him hovering above the tent line; his great wings flapping lazily, unfazed by the haze of rain pummelling his form. Fo Krah Diin was uttered as an arcing breath of ice gushed out of his maw, aimed directly below, at those who still attacked him.
Then I was tugged sideways, and the impact of the rain ceased as I landed against Hadvar with an oomph. As he settled me back on my feet and I regained my balance, I glanced about and saw that he had pulled us into a small rock hollow, barely sheltered from the rain, in the walls of one of the hills the Legion had set up camp between.
"Not yet," he strode to the edge of the grotto, drawing another arrow as he moved. Rivulets of water dripped from his armour, his drenched hair underneath his helmet, and his elbows as he raised the bow. "You can understand what it says, can't you?" he asked in a quiet voice, flickering me a guarded glance.
I confirmed with a small nod, obscurely fearful of what his response would be.
"Good," he bit out, his eyes trained on the sheet of water cascading before us. "Tell me everything you hear it say. We may need to run again-"
"Fo Krah-"
"Hadvar, get back!" I screamed.
BOOM.
The ground shook.
"-Diin!"
Hadvar cried out as the frost hit him square in the chest even as I tugged him back against the wall of the shallow cavern. The ice hit me as well, but the biting sting of cold was nothing beside the crushing horror, thick in my throat and threatening to choke me; Hadvar had taken the brunt of the attack. The dragon's great maw poked through the sheet of water flooding over the opening, gnashing blindly for us as his ice breath continued to spiral forth.
Something snapped within me as I stood defending Hadvar and squinted at the clouds of dragon's breath flying toward us. It felt as though time had slowed down. The frost impacted against me; spread out over my armour, attempted climb into my chest and spear my heart. I could still hear Hadvar's cries through his clenched teeth, and the dragon's continued Shout, but the sounds were dimmed, or behind me, was perhaps the only way I could describe it. Pushing Hadvar against the wall more resolutely with one outstretched palm, I reached down and drew his shortsword from his sheath with my other, ignoring the flakes of ice crusting over me, marking my armour and clothing and skin where it was exposed with its searing whiteness.
"Not yet," I growled out, but the words ni nu reverberated within my throat instead. The voice was my own, but the alien words that curled off my tongue only served to disconnect me further from the fear and pain, and the rampaging beat of my own terrified, tiny, galloping heart. I charged for the still-visible mouth of the dragon. "Hi fen ni lost rok!" formed and left my mouth in a snarl, as I leapt at Nahagliiv.
The rain drenched me once more, pummelling forcefully against my back and head as I landed on his elongated snout and drove Hadvar's sword through the space between his dark, beady eyes; pushed deeper by momentum.
I gripped the sword handle fiercely and locked my legs around his muzzle as Nahagliiv rose and screamed furiously, tossing his head from side to side in an effort to throw me. The hard scales cut through my leggings and the flesh of my thighs as the dragon flailed and shuddered furiously.
"Nid, dovahkiin!" Nahagliiv roared I despair. "Hi nis du dii sil!"
I could hear the dragon's heart beating; a thumping echo within an enormous, dried out cavity; panicking, and alone – so alone. The dragon's words were understood and no translation was offered by my own mind; Nahagliiv was afraid, because he knew that I had won, and that I would devour his soul, and he would never fly again.
On the edge of my awareness I noticed that the rain, and clouds, were thinning. The dragon crashed down onto the ground, and I braced myself against his snout and Hadvar's sword handle as the world shook. His wings flapped pitifully, or perhaps reflexively either side of him, but Nahagliiv did not rise or speak again.
I closed my eyes, trying to focus on taking one breath after the other as the dragon stilled under me. I could hear little of the storm now, and voices fell to my ears; tiny and frantic.
I was being lifted. The dragon's scales tore at my legs as I was moved, and hot pain simmered through me. My eyes flew open in panic. Two men were dragging me off Nahagliiv.
I cried out for them to stop; the agony was too great.
"Ni!"
The pair let go of me at once. Both appeared shocked by my vocalisation but I only caught their startled expressions for a second before I crashed down onto the sodden ground in front of Nahagliiv's enormous jaws. I landed hard on my forearms and knees, and grit my teeth in an effort to choke the scream trying to claw its way out of me. The golden glow of the dragon's soul swirled about me; the frenzied light churning into a vortex as it forced its way past my flesh and through my veins; it's target, my mind.
I gasped for air, pressing my forehead against the ground, clenching my eyes shut as the weight, the burden of Nahagliiv's soul shoved at me, demanding that if I would have him, I must swallow him up in one great gulp, or be drowned by his presence.
My vision blurred with tears and I was both burning and blinded by the light – the exquisite, terrible light. My heart thrummed, strained and panicked, and behind it all, I could feel myself, beating against the confines of my own shell, begging me to get up and run into the rock hollow, to check that Hadvar was still breathing.
It was many moments before I could move, but when the lights faded, I heeded the plea, staggering to my feet amidst the foreign cries and shouts being chattered by the fluttering spectres rushing around me. I pushed past them, searching for Hadvar, because I recalled, as though it were a dream, that he had defended me with his honour and his life, and that he was my chosen mate.
The warm, beating hearts of those between us quickened as their wide, glowing, expectant eyes observed me hurrying through the pools of light and shadow. The clumsy stumps I shifted upon throbbed and I could feel life-force draining from me with each pulse of my heart, though I was not afraid; they did not smell like fatal wounds.
Then I saw him, or at least recognised his prone form in the back of the shallow cave, his heart hammering brightly. He was being attended to by two more bright forms; one of which had a stream of golden energy flowing from their hands to him.
I allowed myself to relax; to pause. He was alive. His injuries were being taken care of. I closed my eyes as I sank to the ground with relief.
And I came back, shuddering as I gasped in a breath of cool, tangy air. The brightness that had surrounded each man and woman that I had pushed past was gone. I felt heavier, as though my light, leather armour suddenly was too much for my frame to bear, and dizzy, as though I had been spinning on the spot a second ago. Soldiers were before me, lifting me to my feet, blocking the path back to Hadvar. But I had seen that he lived, even when I had been behind, so I allowed the assistance. I leaned heavily on an offered arm. A second glance at he who helped me revealed it to be the arm of Dathies Woodharth.
"We need a mage here!" he shouted, before his concerned but somewhat frantic gaze veered down to flicker over me. "Your legs are cut up pretty bad, ma'am," he seemed to be talking very quickly.
I shook my head; saw stars as it swam. "I will be fine. Take me to Hadvar."
The officer looked confused; his brows furrowing. "You're bleeding heavily, and there's frostburn on your legs and neck that need seeing to quickly before it sets in. He'll have my head if I don't have you seen to."
I'm injured, I wondered dimly? Yes. I knew that I had been injured, but it was as though Dathies' reminder of the fact kicked my pain receptors to life. Suddenly, with a force that pushed the air from my lungs, the cold burn and damp sting of every laceration and welt overwhelmed me, and the smell of irony blood – my blood – flooded my senses, making me woozy.
"Whoa!" Dathies caught me before I crashed onto the ground, then lifted me effortlessly into his arms. "Come on, where's a healer?!" he bellowed to the throng of bodies rushing around us. "I've only got the Dragonborn here, in need of assistance!"
"I'm here, I'm here!" a harried voice spoke up over the last of Dathies' tirade. "We can't be everywhere at once, you know!"
I blinked up into the face of the mage; a thin, Breton woman with dark hair plastered to her cheeks and forehead, drenched from the rain. I caught only a fleeting look at her, then her face was obscured by the golden glow of a healing spell.
Dazzled, I closed my eyes and just listened to their voices and the chiming, musical notes of her spell, as the pain coursing through me mercifully eased.
"Why did you jump onto the beast, silly child," the restoration mage muttered.
"Watch your tongue!" Dathies fired back. "This child just managed to do what the assembled Legion couldn't, and took the accursed beast down. We owe her our lives!"
"I didn't mean it like that," I could hear how the woman rolled her eyes, just from the tone of her voice. "I am as grateful as the next officer for our Lady Dragonborn's intervention," she added in a more respectful mutter.
Dathies made a hmph sound.
"But I only mean," the healer added hastily, as though she couldn't help but speak her mind, "...that dragon could have swallowed her up in one gulp," she finished bleakly.
"Yes," Dathies agreed. It sounded as though his teeth were clenched. "Yet despite the risk, she leapt onto its head and drove her sword into its skull."
"It wasn't my sword," I mumbled dumbly.
There was a weighty pause, and the next thing the Breton said, in a more leisurely tone, was, "Do you think you can stand now, Lady Dragonborn? Your legs are fine, though I am having some trouble measuring your shock. Are...you in shock?" she asked hesitantly.
"Of course she's in shock," Dathies grumbled.
At the same time, the spell that had enveloped me receded, and the woman, Dathies, and our surrounds swam back into view as I opened my eyes.
My vision was no longer clouded, and nor was the night's sky; Secunda cast its dim, greenish hue over the faces and valley before me once again. The small moon was about to set, which somehow made its light all the brighter. Masser was nowhere in sight; it must have set before we had left the Frostfruit. Above, there were no remaining traces of the hellish storm that Nahagliiv had unleashed; only the silently observant, twinkling stars.
The Breton mage who had healed me was wearing the lightest variety of Legion armour – all leathers and red material, and was watching me with calculating wariness. I assumed that it meant I was still under assessment, and did my best to compose myself.
My knees shook as Dathies eased me onto the ground.
"Thank you," I rested my hand on the soldier's arm, turning my eyes down to look at my feet. I took a tentative step. There was no pain, I was only a little wobbly. My eyes drifted from my booted feet, up to rest on my ruined leggings. They had been shredded when I had jumped onto the dragon's muzzle, and threads of dark material hung from me in tatters, framing the patches of dried blood and expanses of pink, new skin.
My stomach lurched as I realised very suddenly how close I had come to dying.
But you're not dead. Neither is he.
Raising my head, I took a step toward the cave that Hadvar and I had both sheltered and trapped ourselves in, and faltered as my eyes roved the scene of destruction before me.
In the centre of it were the remains of Nahagliiv, with Hadvar's blade still embedded in his enormous, serpentine skull. The act of accepting the dragon's soul always seemed to strip it of its flesh, for some reason, and all that remained of the beast who had been wreaking havoc on the encampment minutes ago was his pale, shrivelled skeleton and a couple of scales that caught the light of the sinking, smaller moon.
As terrifying as this named dragon who had hunted me had been, I now felt a crushing sense of remorse at observing what it had become. He had sensed his fate, and in his death throes, Nahagliiv had feared me. The certainty with which I felt this was unsettling, for it spoke of a connection to these wyrms that, while I knew must have existed, I was frightened to acknowledge.
The dragon's skeleton was surrounded by a huge crowd of soldiers. A couple were actually in its ribcage, picking through the remnants of the creature, silently passing sections of smaller bone or scales to equally silent helpers standing outside of the beast.
Quite a few of those gathered had their eyes on me, but I was too strung out to feel embarrassed by their scrutiny; their wonder, fear, anxiety and...reverence.
I sensed that they expected something of me, but my bard's training completely failed me before my audience. I looked upon Nahagliiv for a moment, wanting say something, and still came up blank. Nothing I could say would be enough.
I turned away, and made for the cave.
Hadvar rushed out of it as I approached, but he stopped in his tracks when he saw me; his eyes raking over me in widened anxiety.
The sight of him standing – walking – dispelled the void that had wanted to consume me, and I smiled as my heart glowed with utter relief. His assessment of me seemingly completed, his eyes met mine, and then he was running toward me, dodging the soldiers that stood between us. I hurried the final steps to him, throwing my arms around his neck and burying my head into his shoulder as his arms encircled me fiercely.
There was nothing to say – nothing we needed to say. For minutes, though it could have been hours for all I cared, we held one another, and the Legion left us be, moving around us in the wake of the dragon's storm.
Hadvar eventually withdrew, just barely, to reposition himself so that his lips hovered over my ear.
"You saved me," he whispered; his voice carrying a depth of awe that made my heart flip in my chest.
I swallowed. "Now...we are even," I admitted quietly.
Hadvar breathed a disbelieving laugh into my hair. "Not a chance," he huffed; his voice thick with emotion.
"Hmm," I conceded, feeling lighter by his words, despite a lingering gravity that I sensed in him. I squeezed him more possessively, burrowing my face resolutely into his shoulder and breathing in the scent of him; there was sharp blood and earthy dirt and the bitter tang of the violent storm, but beyond those, there was only him. "I suppose you are right. I've probably ruined your sword."
With a genuine, much louder laugh, Hadvar pulled back to look down at me; his grin wide and his eyes bright. "Oh, I beg to differ," his hands pressed against the small of my back, securing me to him.
I returned his smile, in wonder of his playful manner in spite of all of the terror we had endured – how did he always manage to do that? – and lifted my eyebrows at him for further explanation.
Flickering a hasty glance either side of us, he dipped his head, "That sword will be worth a fortune, once its known that the Dragonborn used it to actually slay a dragon," he teased. "I'd better go now, retrieve it before someone else-"
"Hey!" an inexplicable laugh burst from me and I pushed against his shoulder. "Might I remind you, Praefect, that we are soon to be married?" I asked pointedly; my eyes shining as I played along. "What's yours is mine," I posed loftily.
Hadvar ducked his head, his amusement shifting into something calmer, fonder, but no less merry. "I can live with that," he murmured, then dipped down to capture my lips in a warm, tender kiss that I sank into with utter contentment, for it felt like coming home.
–
Eventually Secunda sank below the horizon, and the night and its people calmed. Our task prior to the dragon descending on the camp came back to Hadvar and I, and with very audible sighs, we made for the General's tent.
Surely, the matter of my sister escaping her Legion prison would now be a simple one, I reasoned. The dragon attack had distanced me from everything else that I had to face, and I wagered that General Tullius would feel the same way. For once, she had caused nobody's death; Lydia was in the camp somewhere, recovering from the paralysis spell, and I felt certain that Giselle would be sighted in Stormcloak's presence within a few days.
I found that the idea of her standing beside Ulfric once again could not bring me down at that moment. Perhaps it was naïve of me to consider the dragons a greater threat than Stormcloak and his fanatics, for both were equally dangerous and formidable in their own rights. Perhaps it was merely the after effects of absorbing Nahagliiv's soul that made me feel less panicked about her escape.
Whatever the reason for my new-found composure, when I entered General Tullius' tent with my hand twined in Hadvar's, I had not expected the old soldier to glance up hastily from his war table, lock eyes with me for a second, and then bow on one knee to me.
I stilled, watching as all who stood in his expansive tent followed his lead.
"I am a fiend for ever doubting you, Lady Dragonborn," he droned, lifting his head, though he didn't rise. "I am not sure I deserve forgiveness for my discourtesy, even if you have the will to grant it."
"General," I muttered awkwardly, hastily, casting Hadvar a glance before detangling my hand and hurrying forward. My cheeks blushed as I stopped before General Tullius and held my hands out. "Please, this is unnecessary. Any in your position would have assumed I played a part in my sister's escape."
"He knows it wasn't you," Lydia's droll tone cut through the tent.
I whirled around to locate my housecarl before the General had been able to take my hands. "Lydia!"
She was sitting at the table off to the side of the tent; a mirror of the one that was in my quarters. She held a cloth bundle to her head and wore a knowing, yet exasperated look. "Fighting dragons again without me, little one?" she questioned lightly.
"Not by choice!" I burst out. The General and his officers were forgotten as I tore across the room and embraced Lydia where she was sat. "By the Gods, Lydia. She could have killed you."
Lydia patted me on the back with one hand; the other still holding what appeared to be ice wrapped in a towel to her temple. "No, she couldn't have. Not with her hands bound."
I sat back, searching Lydia's eyes for answers. "So, she had help?"
Lydia's lips curled ironically, then she winced.
"You're injured," I voiced the obvious and frowned; my concern for my friend greater than my need to know the particulars of Giselle's escape at that moment. "Why haven't they summoned a restoration mage?" I asked in a louder voice.
Lydia shook her head, her brows lifting as she smirked. "Some perspective, Celeste. A dragon just attacked the camp. This is a headache; nothing some ice and a potion or two won't fix. Or some sleep," she huffed ruefully.
I huffed with her. "Tell me about it."
The General reminded us of his presence by clearing his throat, and when I glanced at him I saw that he had finally risen.
"What your housecarl says is correct, Lady Dragonborn," he gave me a curt nod. "Those in Giselle's tent didn't see much, as might have been the intention of those who came for her," he grimaced, giving the soldiers around him a hasty glance. "But each saw enough to knit together who it was."
Realising that amongst the soldiers in the tent must have been those who had guarded my sister, and been paralysed with my housecarl, I stood tall, turning to face him properly. "And?" I prompted. "Was it Stormcloak?"
His lips curled into a snarl. "Unfortunately not," he grumbled reluctantly.
I crossed my brows at him and wondered what could possibly be unfortunate about Giselle's saviour not being the enemy of the Empire.
Lydia didn't share his caution, and sighed laboriously. "It was the Thalmor," she said bluntly.
My head whipped back around to face her; her revelation silencing me. A vision of Lydia, Farkas and I tossing the pale Altmer bodies into the river rose within me. Why would they come for Giselle? She knew nothing of Delphine.
Hadvar posed the obvious. "But...we are allied with the Thalmor," he said in a tense voice. "Why would they attack us to extract her?"
"Mm hmm," the General sounded unimpressed. "Why indeed?"
"I mean," he pressed on reasonably, "if they had questions to ask her, they would only need ask-"
Tearing my eyes from Lydia's, I looked at the other soldiers in the tent. "What happened...exactly?" I swallowed, trying to suppress my rising guilt. "What did you...see, and hear?"
It was the General who answered again, sighing as he lifted his hand up to rub at his temples. "Had I taken statements earlier, I would not have concerned you in this matter, Lady Dragonborn," he lowered his hand, squaring me with tired, stern eyes.
He was not frustrated with me, though – that much was clear. I frowned. "She's my sister. I'm concerned regardless of who has her. If she has been kidnapped-"
"They are our allies. A retrieval is out of the question," the General cut me off, turning away in frustration and resting his hands on the table.
I watched him closely and experienced a dreadful sinking feeling when he refused to elaborate. Nobody in the tent could truly believe what he had said, but none were stupid enough to voice what everybody knew. The alliance between the Empire and Aldmeri Dominion had always been tenuous.
Eventually, he glanced up to the roof of the canvas tent. "You should return to your quarters, and try to get some rest. You've had a...busy day, to say the least," he bit out, somewhat regretfully.
"General," I stepped swiftly toward his table, speaking loudly and clearly as I stood opposite him and rested my hands on the table to meet him, propelled by a sudden urgency to understand at least this riddle. "Why would the Thalmor take my sister?"
He grimaced as his eyes flickered to me. "I don't know," he answered flatly.
"What did they do, then? Why did they paralyse her guards and Lydia?" I fired. "What Hadvar said is true – as allies, they could have stepped into that tent and simply asked for her! Why take her in such a manner-!?"
"I don't know."
"Celeste," Hadvar cut in quickly, and I registered that he was standing by my side. His hand fell to my arm, and I glanced up to him swiftly, startling at the contact.
His tone was cautious. "I'll...take you back to your quarters."
"What? No," I muttered as I swiftly turned back to the General. "I want to know what happened – I have a right to know. Perhaps you are mistaken – perhaps the Stormcloaks disguised themselves as Thalmor, to throw us off their trail and cause dissent amongst those who remain true to the White-Gold Concordat," I reached.
"They didn't," the General whipped his head up; his response a rough bark. "Miss Passero," his tone was even; his eyes flickered to Hadvar's hand on my arm, which had tensed at the General's initial shout. He paused; seemed to heavily consider what he was about to say, then his gaze swerved back up, to meet mine.
There was no room for argument, or even compromise, in his tone or his eyes. "I urge you to forget that you had a sister, for your own sake, the sake of the name Passero, and the sake of the living whose lives you value. If what my officers and your housecarl have told me tonight is true, then I very much doubt any of us will see Giselle Passero again."
My heart clenched in my chest; I took an unconscious step back. Hadvar was there, holding me up. I shook my head, fumbling for words. "This is ridiculous," I managed.
"Had she remained with the Legion," the General went on as though I hadn't uttered a sound, "she would have stood a very public trial, and then undergone a very public execution before the week was out – a circus of events that would have dragged your name through the dirt again," the General continued, sounding as though he was trying to justify his inaction to himself. "I am very...sorry, that the situation has escalated," he added, turning away in abject defeat. "I offer you condolences, on behalf of the Empire."
I moved to speak again but no words came to mind and I stilled, my mouth partially open. I felt the will to fight the General draining out of me as I understood that he, truly, had no answers for me, or authority to act if the Thalmor were involved. I sank back against Hadvar, lowering my eyes.
"Understood," I managed quietly, though that was far from the truth.
When Hadvar led me from the General's tent shortly after, we were followed by Lydia and another detail of soldiers, numbering this time somewhere in the twenties. I understood at once that their presence was the General's attempt to ensure that I not be spirited away in what was left of the night, too.
Lydia walked close by my side, still holding the towel to her head. After inspecting my latest 'honour' guard with a vague sense of unease, I turned to her imploringly.
"What did you see?" I found myself asking. "Why would they come for my sister? She knows nothing of..." I trailed off; she would know who I meant. "And why would they paralyse you?"
Lydia shrugged and winced again. "I can tell you this much; the paralysis spell was for her, not us. We were simply collateral. Had they wanted her dead, we would all be dead."
"What?!"
"Giselle saw them enter the tent," Lydia continued dispassionately. "She was the only one who faced the entryway. Her eyes widened, and she opened her mouth to scream, but before she could, the paralysis spell hit us, and her face was frozen, contorted in horror. I was brushed aside, like an inconvenient leaf on a branch," she muttered darkly. "Hit my head on a chair, on the way to the ground. They were very...precise," she sighed in frustration.
"By the Eight," Hadvar murmured by my side. "Did they...say anything?"
"No," Lydia pressed definitively, fixing both of us with a hard glance. "I do not want us to think more on this until we have all had some rest," she murmured. "That's enough, all right? You both did good today."
I felt too vague of mind to fight her, and it was easy enough to accept her orders. I nodded dully and felt Hadvar do the same as I rested my head on his arm. We continued on through the rows of darkened tents, some of which bore bright, stiff patches of dried frost from the dragon, that would not melt until the sun rose; if at all.
–
When we arrived at my quarters, our escort surrounded the exterior of the tent, and Hadvar insisted on taking watch with them. Lydia crossly reminded him that he was off duty, and suggested he climb into a bedroll with me so that I wouldn't catch cold.
He admitted he was too tired to argue with her, and Lydia threw him some clean clothes from the supplies chest then staggered off to the other side of the tent, to set up her own bed.
I listened from the bedroll I'd already climbed into, aware of every soft clank of armour and dull rustle of cloth as Hadvar changed. Then he stepped around the canvas screen wearing a look so vulnerable that my heart clenched.
Quietly, solemnly, he climbed in beside me. His tired eyes had dark circles underneath them, but he remained watchful as we shuffled to get comfortable, then relaxed, wordlessly grateful for the solace of the other. He caressed my waist a few times, feather-light, and we just lay there holding one another, blinking wearily. After such a tumultuous day, it was disorienting to relax, and I wondered if I was only dreaming Hadvar was with me.
He kissed me softly, gentle as though he worried he would break me, then sighed quietly and rest his nose against mine, closing his eyes.
No; this was real – he was real. Where might we have been now, had the night not exploded into chaos? I could feel Hadvar was wondering the same as he drifted off. It was difficult to not regret what might have been.
But it was too much to speculate after all that had happened, and tomorrow it wouldn't matter. We were going to Riften, to the Temple of Mara. This time tomorrow, we would be married.
I ached with weariness, but my mind wouldn't settle, insisting I explain what had happened with Nahagliiv. The appearance of an exceptionally strong dragon with a name had brought how little I understood of being Dragonborn into sharper relief than ever, though I had ultimately, inexplicably, been the one to bring him down. During this encounter, both before I had leapt onto the dragon and after Nahagliiv's soul had forced its way into me, I could have sworn that something had stepped up and taken charge of the situation - charge of me. It was a fearful thought, but I was confused about what it was that I feared, too, and found that I couldn't summon the right words to explain either what I had experienced, or what I now felt. I had been aware of what I was doing and in control of my actions, but I had also been separate, trapped behind myself, watching as I moved and blinked and breathed.
Was every day like this for Vilkas and Farkas? Was this what it was to share one's soul? But no – sharing was the wrong descriptor. Tales told of the Dragonborn's spirit being that of a dragon, and after confronting myself today, perhaps it was? Perhaps what had stepped forward had always been a part of me, appearing when required but otherwise waiting patiently to be realised, like the extra octave of singing range Dean Ateia's tutelage had coaxed out of me. She had told me my potential to reach those notes had always been within me, I had merely needed guidance and confidence to access them.
Perhaps the Greybeards would offer similar training, so that this exotic, unfamiliar piece of me might feel as natural as my music did, some day in the future. That did not sound so formidable.
The presence had reacted strongly when Hadvar was in danger. Hi fen ni lost rok, I had screamed before driving Hadvar's sword into Nahagliiv's skull, without hesitating to ask if what I did was right or wrong, or even possible. I had reacted intuitively, and it seemed I could not only understand the language of the dragons, but speak it fluently, if I didn't think about doing it.
As I recalled the words I'd yelled in outrage, watching Hadvar resting peacefully in my arms, the translation that had not been required at the time slipped through my mind in a whisper;
You will not have him.
With a sigh, I pressed my forehead to Hadvar's chest. He echoed my sigh in his sleep and shifted an arm to encircle me, drawing my body closer to rest against him.
While my questions were still unanswered, from the security of his hold I felt at peace, and joined him in a deep, dreamless sleep within minutes.
I woke, hours later, calm and snug with a weight resting across my waist and I could just make out sounds of activity somewhere.
I remembered where I was as my eyes grew accustomed to the dull greyness of predawn.
A tent at the Legion camp at Rorikstead. And the warmth, now pressed against my back, was Hadvar. I must have turned while we slumbered.
It felt as though no time had passed at all, yet it was morning; the tent had been dark before, and now all was lighter, though still largely colourless. My head throbbed a little, but otherwise, I felt fine, refreshed even.
I turned gingerly, not wishing to wake Hadvar, but longing to look at him. He stirred, but once I stopped moving, he relaxed again.
I closed my eyes, against the warmth of his chest, and listened to the noises of the world beyond us, now accompanied by the steady thump-thump of Hadvar's heart that travelled to me more as a feeling, than a sound. Outside, voices called, metal clanked, and the slow clop of horse's hooves occasionally sounded. The Legion were packing up camp.
You should get up and help them, I told myself wryly.
I held Hadvar closer, determined to ignore the prompt.
There was gentle movement at my back, and I realised I must have woken Hadvar after all; his hand drifted lazily down, tracing my spine, then back up again.
Warmth flowered in my chest and my breath caught, earning a small, breathy chuckle from the sleepy soldier. Not to be outdone, I brushed my fingers along his arm, dancing across his shoulder, thrilling at how he shuddered under my touch.
Perhaps he felt my lips curve into a smile against his tunic, for he laughed again, a soft, warm rumble. His hand slid under the hem of my tunic and continued its leisurely path upward, skimming my waist. I was powerless to stop a shiver of my own, sinking my teeth into my bottom lip to mute my gasp. The pads of his fingers were rough against the sensitive skin of my side and belly, but his touches were light and gentle, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
This was certainly a nice way to wake up.
"Good morning," I whispered, words brushing his jaw.
He made a small, pleased noise of agreement and lowered his head to meet my lips, kissing me with relaxed abandon. After a moment he shuffled down a bit, his fingers grasping a little more firmly at my waist as he deepened the kiss.
Stars swam behind my eyes and, unwittingly, I echoed the muffled, satisfied sound, which only made him huff and tug me closer, forehead pressed to mine for a beat as we adjusted, before we found each other's lips again. The fire in my belly built as we explored the expanses of skin available around clothes, and as our kiss intensified, our touches grew bolder, more purposeful. He grazed my ribs, brushed the underside of my breast at the moment I slid a single fingertip just inside the waistband of his trousers; his stomach muscles tightened under my hand and he shifted, pressing a trail of soft, lingering kisses down my neck.
"Hadvar," I moaned quietly, fingers twining in the hair at the back of his head.
"Celeste," he murmured across my skin, fingers flexing around my hip, his breath washing my throat in a long, warm puff. "Do you understand what you do to me when you say my name like that?"
I drew his head back up, to meet his stormy, yearning gaze.
"Show me," I pleaded, breathless, heart fluttering with anticipation.
"Yeah?" he gasped against my lips.
"Yes," I urged. I kissed him again, deep and longing, my hand brushing through the space between us to linger across his collarbone. "Hadvar, show me."
With another warm, trembling breath, he closed his fingers, holding me to him as he rolled to arch over me. With his weight on one arm and his body above me, his mouth found mine again, hot and gasping. His teeth tugged softly at my bottom lip as he pushed his hips against my leg with a muted rush of air that might have been a small grunt. His hard length pushed against me through our clothes, and I flushed with desire at the feel of him, wanting me. Fumbling, suddenly impatient with longing, my fingers laced through the hair at the back of his neck to keep him right where he was, and I decided yes, this was right.
Another press of his hips to mine, and he stilled and lifted his head, breaking our scorching kiss.
I leant up, trying to coax his lips back to mine.
He shook his head in exasperation and leaned up a little further.
"We can't do this," he whispered urgently, nodding across the room, supporting himself on his hands, hovered over me. "Your housecarl is right there."
I stilled; my cheeks burned. I'd forgotten about Lydia. I met Hadvar's apologetic eyes in regret as we each clawed our way back from the precipice we'd lumbered towards. I tried to tell myself he was right to stop us, but reason didn't stop the wanting, and potent disappointment flowed through me. Our timing was terrible.
Hadvar looked so regretful that I longed to say something, anything to ease him. I made more of an effort to measure my breaths, for each came laboured, and was finally calm enough to speak. "You're right. If Lydia doesn't wake, someone from the Imperial Legion will burst into our tent at any moment. Or a dragon."
He laughed quietly, the sound leaving him in a huff as he glanced across the room, cheeks puffed. At the sight of his smile my heart blazed with yearning and I was powerless against his call. I craned up, kissed his jaw once, twice, and he laughed again, breathless. I continued to kiss slowly down his neck, and his laugh turned into a quiet cry of restraint.
"Celeste," he muttered in earnest.
"All right," I sighed, pouting as I lay back. "You owe me," I whispered, eyes dancing with cheekiness.
The desire in his eyes intensified, and my heart thudded at that look, certain I had crossed some line and he would kiss me again, and more, consequences be damned. But he closed his eyes instead, took a few deep breaths, then slowly eased off me.
"A debt I intend to pay in full," he squirmed and stretched in an attempt to get comfortable. "With interest," he added shortly after, with a bit of a laboured groan.
"Good," I giggled, turning onto my side to help as he tried to find enough room in the bedroll for both of us again. "And not in some dodgy pub in Riften," I teased, leaning over his chest as he lay back, finding his eyes and flushing at the fondness I found there. Sudden shyness overcame me, realising where we had been headed until Hadvar's good sense intervened. "Somewhere...private."
Somewhere special, I wanted to say, though I feared he might laugh for making such a big deal out of this...this build up. Hadvar was five years my senior, and it was plain I was not his first woman given the confident, purposeful way he touched me, and his control, his logic when it came to the appropriate time and place for intimacy. A man with less experience would have been more desperate, more frantic, and not been able to exhibit such restraint.
But as he was to be my first – and last, the idealistic romantic within me insisted, I longed for our first time together to be...memorable.
Hadvar tilted his head, his gaze softening, understanding, tender with devotion. "Yes," he agreed, brushing a hand down the back of my head, stroking my hair gently. "Somewhere...special," he whispered pensively.
Well. I laughed at myself as snuggled into his chest to hide my flush and insuppressible smile. There was no point in worrying, was there?
All was pleasant and serene for a few minutes, but regrettably, memories of the previous day crept back into the forefront of my mind. I realised it was guilt snaking through me, for allowing myself to momentarily smother what had occurred with the warmth and comfort of the man beside me.
The war for Whiterun. The encounter with Nahagliiv. All my sister had told me, or not told me, as it was. The Thalmor, inexplicably stealing her out of the Empire's custody.
I had been mad at my sister for so long that I was alarmed by the fierceness of my distress as I recalled what Lydia had told me on the journey from the General's tent. Giselle had seen those who had come for her, and she had feared them, and they had paralysed her. Just as the Thalmor had paralysed me, when they had come for me on the journey home from Windhelm.
Did she possess information that the Thalmor wanted to draw from her? Undoubtedly so, given her closeness to Stormcloak. Which meant that – I made myself face the reality – she would undergo severe questioning, and torture, for as long as it took the Thalmor to take what they wanted from her.
I shuddered in Hadvar's arms, clenching my eyes closed and reaching for an alternative fate for my twin. Perhaps the Thalmor wanted her because she was Ulfric's woman. Perhaps they hoped to use her, as bait to get him to back off and lay down arms. Perhaps she would come out of this alive, after all, if Stormcloak's feelings for her were greater than his ambition to be High King.
The prospect was bleak and unlikely, but, was it possible? I had stood before Ulfric myself and though it mortified me to recall it, I had experienced his hunger; the strength of his passions, while he had believed me to be my sister. How had she managed it; how had she found a way to render one of the most powerful men in Skyrim vulnerable? And how would his attachment to her affect his judgement? If the Thalmor threatened her, would he bend to their will? Had he already learned of her fate, and deployed a team to liberate her?
Hadvar sighed underneath me, brushing his hand across my shoulder and down my back softly. "We drink to our youth, to days come and gone," he sang quietly; his voice thick and attractively untrained, carrying an amused, cautious lilt.
I breathed a laugh. "I'm here," I turned up to regard him. Was that, of all songs, really going to become our song?
He smiled warmly and squeezed my waist. "So. Riften?" he asked hopefully, lifting his eyebrows.
I nodded and smiled back as I pushed aside my tension. Whatever Giselle's future held; she was responsible for it, and I would not let her destroy this precious journey Hadvar and I were about to take.
"Riften," I confirmed quietly.