AN: Sorry it took me so long to update this, here's a present of two chapters at once. As I said in the description, this is a rewriting (and continuation) of In the Shadow of Dragons by Demon-Kagetsuki, and as such a lot of information, ideas and text will be inspired by (and straight-up plagiarized) from that story. 10/10 would recommend reading the original.
Brænna laughed outright, though she was still nervous about the fact that someone had hidden a magical mirror in her bedroom. "You couldn't have come to a better person, though I'm not sure why a dragon would still be terrorizing anywhere in Tamriel. Where are you? Riften? Solitude? Markarth? Or are you somewhere outside of Skyrim?"
Gandalf paused for a moment, framing his answer. "I come from far across the sea, in a land east of the place you know as Akavir."
She scoffed. "East of the land of the Dragon Slayers? And you need me for help with killing a dragon? What kind of wizard are you? Twelve of the Winterhold guard could take down a dragon easily."
"Smaug is no ordinary dragon," Gandalf stated. "From what I heard from Savos Aren, your dragons are… smaller. Less dangerous."
"Less dangerous?" she snarled. "Right, because the destruction of towns and devouring the souls of people for power is less dangerous, just because the Dragon's smaller, I suppose?"
Gandalf raised his hands in a supplicating gesture, saying, "I didn't mean-"
"No, you didn't," she interrupted. "Anyways, how do you suggest I meet you there? No boat I know travels east from Necrom, let alone Blacklight…" she trailed off, realizing exactly how she would have to travel there- on the back of Paarthurnax or Odahviing. And if these people were looking to kill dragons…
"I suppose I could send a boat to you from Mithlond," Gandalf said, interrupting her thoughts.
"No, I have a way," she said. "I just hope he's in a good travelling mood," she grumbled.
Brænna bade Gandalf farewell, and told him that she'd meet him on the western coast of Middle Earth in a few days. Once his image faded, she replaced the tapestry, and sighed.
"What should I pack?" she said out loud to the too-quiet room. Daedric or Dragonplate armor would be the best, though they were both heavy. She weighed her options in her head, asking herself if she wanted mobility or protection. Laughing out loud at her own foolishness, she tossed her travel bag on her bed and opened her wardrobe. Folded nicely, conveniently next to each other were her Dragonscale and Nightingale armor sets.
"How serendipitous," she said, packing them both in her bags, alongside her Archmage's robes. "Best to make an impression, yeah?" she asked the skull above the enchanter, which, as usual stared blankly back at her. "Yeah you're right," she said.
All in all, she packed her Dragonscale armor, her Nightingale set, a jeweler's wealth of enchanted rings and circlets, a small satchel of filled soul gems, and half a dozen enchanted necklaces. She slipped into her most comfortable enchanted black robes, pulled on a comfortable pair of boots and her riding gloves, and placed a circlet with cold resistance on her head. After slinging her dragonbone bow across her back, she strapped her twin dragonbone swords, Yol and Fo to her waist, then packed a few empty books, a quill and sealed bottle of ink for journaling. Standing in the center of the room, she looked around, making sure she wasn't going to forget anything.
Absently, she twisted her wedding ring on her finger as her eyes settled on a particular dagger- the Blade of Woe. Frowning, she remembered her history with the Brotherhood, and the fateful day when she'd slain Astrid in the burnt-out ruins of the Sanctuary. "No," she said, finally, grabbing the straps of her bag and heading out the door. She made it only four steps down the stairs before she snarled, setting the bag down to retrieve the dagger.
Quickly, she found Hennus Aren, her current Master Wizard (and however many greats- nephew of Savos) and left him in charge of the college while she was gone. She borrowed a horse from the stable, leaving the city of Winterhold just as the last vestiges of sunset left the sky. Travelling southeast along the coastline, she reached the easternmost point that side of the White River before dismounting. Stroking the horse's head, she whispered the animal allegiance shout, before giving the horse instructions to return to Winterhold.
The sturdy beast nuzzled her shoulder before turning away and galloping back toward Winterhold. She waited a few minutes, gazing up at the aurora before turning toward the churning sea. Closing her eyes, she listened to the crashing of the waves against the rocks, before taking a deep breath and shouting to the sky.
"ODAHVIING!"
Her voice echoed across the water for a few moments before she heard the distinctive roar of her old friend echoed back. She watched his shadow pass before the aurora before he tucked his wings and dove towards her. Landing gracefully, he shook the altitude condensation off of his wings before bending his neck down toward her to speak.
"Drem yol lok, Dovahkiin. Aal Zu'u laan fahvos hi bel zey fod iilah tu rek lok?" Odahviing rumbled, his voice shaking the air around her, ruby scales shiny under the moonlight. (Greetings, Dragonborn. May I ask why you call for me when the moon rules the sky?)
"Drem yol lok, Odahviing. I am sorry to disturb your hunting, but I need your help on a new journey I must take," she answered, stepping forward and placing a hand softly on his scaly cheek.
"Oh? And where will this wundaak, this journey take us?" Odahviing asked.
"Across the eastern sea, past Akavir to a land called Middle-Earth. It is far, and I would not call for you unless I needed to be expeditious," she answered.
"Vrah. It will be a long journey, but it has been a while since I stretched my wings with such a flight."
Brænna smiled, glad that one of her oldest friends was willing to make the journey. "How long will it take you to prepare?"
"Yet an hour to fill my stomach. I will meet you here," the mighty dragon responded.
"Until then," Brænna said as she turned toward a sheltered part of the beach. She felt Odahviing take off behind her, roaring as he veered off toward the forest.
Once she reached the more sheltered part, she decided to sit and meditate for a while, and as usual, her mind turned to her past. It had been decades since she'd left Skyrim, though when she was younger she'd explored all of Tamriel. At the end of the Second Great War, she'd even travelled with the Imperial Delegation to Alinor to discuss the terms of the Dominion's surrender. She'd lived through the Tyranny of the Sun, when she'd helped her dear friend Serana overthrow her father, the Dragonborn War of Solstheim, when she'd defeated Miraak in Apocrypha, then the Second Great War, and the Second Oblivion Crisis, when Molag Bal had tried to enslave Haafingar from Castle Volkihar.
The worst of it had been her first death, though. On her way back from Solitude where Elisif had commended her for slaying Alduin, a particularly lucky bandit had managed to send an arrow straight through her heart. She'd woken abruptly in the Solitude Hall of the Dead, wrapped in bandages much to the shock of the Priests of Arkay who had thought they had created the newest Draugur. From what she gathered, one of the many dragon souls she'd absorbed had brought her back, exactly the same as she had been when she'd first awoken on the way to Helgen. Word quickly got around, and she'd been swarmed by the Thalmor, jealous that she'd gained the fabled immortality of the Aldmeri. Rather than rejoicing in her newfound longevity, she'd tried to rid herself of it as quickly as possible. Many times, she'd thrown herself into the Sea of Ghosts, only to wake in a baffled fisherman's nets. No poison would harm her for long, no cocky bandit that thought they were good with a sword, not even throwing herself from the top of the Throat of the World could harm her.
She'd gone back and catalogued every dragon she'd slain, numbering them, counting the souls she'd absorbed.
When that number dwindled to zero, she thought she'd finally escaped- two years before, her husband Farkas had died of old age, and Sofia and Lucia had long since married and gone away. She'd waited long years at the College of Winterhold, throwing herself into study. She'd had hope when her hair had first gone grey, then white, though her half-Bosmer blood made it take longer than if she'd been a full-blooded Nord. Her skin remained flawless though, save for the scars she'd accumulated over the years.
One day, she'd left the College of Winterhold, and headed toward the newly rebuilt and refurbished Castle Volkihar. She'd scarcely landed at the docks when a crossbow bolt pierced her shoulder, sending her to the ground.
Paralyzed and bleeding out, she'd almost laughed as the last member of the Dawnguard, a descendant of Isran himself, monologued to her about how he'd take Auriel's Bow from her home at Lakeview Manor, congratulating himself for killing the fearsome Dragonborn. She'd sighed, a smile on her lips as she succumbed to the blackness of blood loss.
And she wept, when she awoke on Serana's bed. She'd long ago told Serana of her literal death wish, and her friend had respected that, not even trying to heal her. Surprised at the sound of her sobs, Serana had entered the room to find a completely healthy, unscarred, living (though still white-haired) Brænna sobbing on her bed.
Brænna had fallen into a deep depression after that. Seeking death any way she could, she supposed that she had forgotten a few dragon souls, and that all she needed to do was keep trying. That all stopped one day when a concerned Paarthurnax had landed on the parapet of the College of Winterhold, informing her that dragons had been mysteriously dying, falling from the sky. She'd put the facts together, falling to her knees with the shock that resurrecting her was literally killing dragons from afar.
It was only then that she remembered Alduin's last curse that fateful day in Sovngarde.
"Aal hi neh siiv dinok ful lingrah ol dov lahney!"
May you never find death so long as dragonkind lives.
That wording had given her a sense of false hope, a loophole to get out of the curse. To kill all Dovah and consume their souls, though the realization that to do so, to finally fade away, she would have to slay every Dovah, even those she had grown to befriend. One night years later, she had told her discovery to Odahviing at the Throat of the World. Long minutes had passed in silence, before he replied that he would gladly give his life when, not if, the time came, saying that a world without Dovah would lead to a lonely existence. She had yet to tell Paarthurnax, as the ancient Dovah had taken his followers of the Way of the Voice and travelled to somewhere hidden away from Humanity.
"Hi morah nau vul mindok, Dovahkiin" Odahviing rumbled, startling her.
"Indeed, old friend, I do think on dark thoughts. Are you ready?" she asked.
"I am as ready as you are, Dovahkiin," he answered.
"Thank you. Do you mind if we visit…" she trailed off, hoping she wouldn't have to say it out loud.
"Of course not," he answered, as she climbed upon his back.