Nariilu yawned sleep from her eyes and waved to the scarce guards she passed. She tossed the half-eaten apple she hoped Hulda wouldn't notice was missing to the side of the path before trudging up the steps to Jorrvaskr just before the sun was beginning to show in the sky. She took care with the ancient grand doors into the hall and not as much care with the door down to the living quarters; Tilma always kept its hinges well-greased. She knocked on Aela's door quietly, but with enough urgency to be annoying. Hunters were light sleepers.
There was a muffled crash from inside, followed by a louder curse. Aela threw open the door, her dagger in one hand and a wild look in her eye. "What? Are we under attack?" Aela looked around, her hair falling into her face, relaxing when she saw no threat, and no concern in Nariilu's posture. She dropped her voice. "Why are you here in the middle of the night?"
"It's almost dawn, for one," Nariilu responded in a whisper. "And I'd like to know what you wanted to say to me yesterday."
"I just wanted to apologize," Aela said, "for the whole…you know. We didn't mean to scare you off from the Companions. The twins almost killed Skjor and me for it, if it makes you feel any better." She rubbed sleep from her eye and stretched.
It didn't, not much, but hearing the genuine remorse in Aela's voice did. None of the harsh, bossy tone was present, be it because she had just woken up and not had time to put on her leadership persona yet, or because she was honest, Nariilu decided it didn't matter much if at all. "If you have any dragon slaying contracts after I deal with the World-Eater, I'll take any and all you can spare. I wouldn't mind hunting with you and the other Companions again."
Aela's shoulders relaxed with a sigh. "That's-that's great! We have too many to keep track of, since they just come back if you're not there." She sniffed and rubbed her eyes. "We've even had requests from High Rock and Cyrodiil. The Fighters Guilds can't keep up, either."
Good, Nariilu thought. More dragons meant more souls which meant more knowledge which meant Words of Power which meant she became more and more unstoppable. Just the thought of how many hundreds of dragons she could slay sent a tingle down her spine. "Be careful," Nariilu warned, "they've been getting more powerful as of late."
"Bolder, too. There's more than one report of dragons taking over farms and mills." Aela ran her fingers through her hair, taming it from sleep and half-mindedly beginning to braid it out of her face. "That dragon you're trapping better know where Alduin is. I'm sick and tired of chasing these overgrown flies across Skyrim."
She would never tire of watching a dragon fall out of the sky as her magic left its wings frozen, of feeling her sword slip through scales to gut a dragon. "Best of luck today. Keep the city safe."
Aela nodded. "I'm glad we don't have any hard feelings between us, Shield-Sister. I'll have your back, always."
"Want any?" Lydia held out a tin of warpaint in one hand, the other resting on a polished silver mirror she had used to apply tan and red twisted lines from her eyes down to meet her cuirass.
Ulfric tied off his braid, running his finger along it to make sure it laid flat against his head. "You'd hardly see it under my helmet."
"You'll know its there," she mentioned. Ulfric shook his head. He had never liked the greasy paints that always ended up in his hair, nearly impossible to get out. He saw no point in taking the time to apply the stuff only for it to be lost to all observers. It's not like Odahviing would care or even know the significance of the different patterns.
The Dragonborn leaned over the second floor railing, her hair almost too short to fall upside down. "Lydia, you don't suppose we'll need frost resistance potions?"
"We've been betting that Odahviing is a fire dragon for all our planning; it'd be just our luck that he's not."
"Well, I've got three." She disappeared back over the rail.
"It'll be enough; most who'll be on the porch are Nords."
"Doesn't make much of a difference against a dragon," the Dragonborn said. Lydia shrugged and didn't say anything further, closing the tins of warpaint and tucking them in the cabinet. The Dragonborn came down the stairs, a bulging pouch clinking with potions slung over her shoulder. Her armor shone icy blues and deep obsidian purples, contrasting against the warm morning glow coming from the window. It was like nothing Ulfric had ever seen before, fitting and moving with her fluidly like a light leather armor, but with distinct plates of ebony and glass. She carried an ebony shield on one arm.
"What kind of armor is that?" Ulfric asked. He had never seen heavy and light metals combined in the same piece of armor; sure, many soldiers chose to wear heavy steel bracers with light chest pieces to use as a rudimentary shield if needed, or thick leather and fur boots to keep snow out even with iron armor. The Dragonborn placed the shield next to him; he took it and adjusted the fit as she replied.
"Eorlund Graymane's take on glass armor," the Dragonborn answered. "The man's a master of his craft. I never would've thought of substituting moonstone, which is the weakest part of a set of glass, you know, with ebony. I wonder just how hot the Skyforge is that he was able to alloy the two metals together without so much as a seam. You see, right here, , just how he has a perfect gradient between malachite and ebony? Look!" She raised her arm and pointed to the side of her waist.
Ulfric nodded in agreement, not listening to the Dragonborn fawn over the workmanship. She spouted theories about other applications for his technique, swearing to order another set just to watch Eorlund work, to test the effect of her magical cooling on the metal, on making a full alloy of the two. He imagined himself being her assistant for some blacksmith business, bringing her coals and hauling ores as she cursed over a forge day in and out. She would likely make him learn the trade beyond fixing dents in his armor and sharpening his sword. Ulfric decided he was glad the Dragonborn had other goals in mind; smithing always came across as awfully boring to him.
And then J'zargo walked in clad in different robes than usual, ornate blue and white shimmering with black enchantments, and the Dragonborn restarted her speech on her armor. Based on J'zargo's reaction, he cared less than he did, even cut her off as she launched into her explanation of how difficult it was to work with ebony or malachite alone. "This one is ready to leave?"
The Dragonborn finished her sentence and blinked. "I, well, yes, but-"
"Good. And the others as well?" J'zargo grinned as the Dragonborn's shock morphed into annoyance.
"I am," Ulfric said. Lydia snorted.
"I should let Alduin devour your souls, all of you."
The lone guard at the entrance to Dragonsreach advised them that the Jarl was already on the Porch waiting. "Well, then, we should hurry our pace. He's not known for his patience," the Dragonborn said before wishing the guard luck and leading the group inside. The great hearth was almost dark, down to its last embers in the center of the hall. None of the liveliness of Dragonsreach remained, no servants bustling about, no Thanes or citizens speaking with Balgruuf, it hadn't even been this grim at the funeral of Jarl Kolvild, Balgruuf's father.
The Great Porch was smaller than Ulfric remembered, though it was still big enough to hold a hundred or more people comfortably. At least the entire structure was built of stone, even the upper promenade circling the lower levels, the grand banners had been taken down for the occasion. Archers gathered near the front of the Porch, just inside where the high roof ended and a balcony extended to the north.
Further inside, a handful of guards with swords stood lounging, waiting for Odahviing to make the mistake and land, perhaps to lure him deeper under the canopy. Near them was the only flammable substance Ulfric could find, the wheels that held the giant chains. Following them upwards revealed yet another wooden structure, the harness that would be used to hold Odahviing.
Ulfric couldn't help but feel his pride swell at Balgruuf's expression when he walked in clad in full ebony. He hoped it didn't show on his face; the removed faceplate left him open to Shout and to be seen by all. He bit his tongue instead, eyeing Balgruuf's freshly polished steel plate. Chests of Imperial and Elven gold didn't go as far as he would've thought, it seemed.
"Jarl!" The Dragonborn called as she approached, drawing Balgruuf's attention. "Are you ready to trap a dragon?"
"My men stand ready and the great chains are oiled, Dovahkiin," Balgruuf replied, his gaze still lingering on his and the Dragonborn's armor. Irileth waited behind him, her bow already out and an arrow resting in her other hand. "We wait on your word."
"Excellent," she replied. "Now, for final preparations." Lydia stepped forwards, opening the basket full of small vials. "I've brought draughts of fire resistance," the Dragonborn continued, pausing to count the guards on the Porch. "Enough for everyone, I believe. I also have three potions of frost resistance, just in case." She took a red-marked potion from the basket and motioned for the others to do the same. Ulfric hoped no one noticed his hand left the basket empty, and both J'zargo and Irileth took one of each.
"These potions are of the kind that keep one's fur from going up in flames, yes?" J'zargo asked. The way he rubbed at his shoulder with a wince made Ulfric wonder if he had experience with such injuries. And then Ulfric stopped wondering; J'zargo's favorite conversational topic was bragging on how gifted he was with Destruction magic, specifically fire spells.
"I'm not sure," the Dragonborn replied. "Test them and let me know what you find out."
Lydia moved to the three groups of guards to distribute the potions. Irileth attempted to give hers to Balgruuf without a word. "You'll be taking those yourself, Irileth," Balgruuf said, pushing her full hands away and tying his own vial to his belt.
"I've no need for them," Irileth replied. "I've walked barefoot to the mouth of the Red Mountain and swum in the Sea of Ghosts. It's my sworn duty to keep you alive, and, seeing as how you've not the ashen blood of a dark elf nor your cloaks and furs, I simply must insist." Balgruuf sighed and took the potions.
The doors opened and shut with a loud thud. Farengar jogged in, scrolls tucked around his belt and a stack of books in his hands. "Oh, good, I'm not late!" He dropped the books behind the stairs to the promenade where any fiery Shouts would be hard-pressed to reach. "Just a few journals and translation guides," he explained. Ulfric wondered how good the translation guides actually were; the Greybeards kept all their texts secret, and even the best researchers confused ancient Nordic and Dov far too often. "Not often one gets to study a dragon this close, or at all, really!"
"We aren't here to study a dragon, we're here to interrogate one," the Dragonborn replied, crossing her arms.
"Have some tact, Farengar," Irileth said.
Farengar shrugged, taking a potion when Lydia offered him the basket. "We've got two more," Lydia said, stowing the basket behind the stairs.
"Great. Bring me an extra," the Dragonborn ordered. Ulfric felt cold glass touch his hand, and he almost jumped at the contact. He looked at her and her face was nothing but thinly-masked threat. The message was as clear as day; he took the vial and kept it clutched tightly. "Never hurts to have all the resistance you can when you Shout fire, eh?" Lydia snorted. The Dragonborn frowned and pulled her sack of potions off her shoulder and handing it to Lydia. Lydia moved to tuck them behind the stairs to the promenade. "There's enough health potions in there to keep a Giant alive, along with stamina and magicka potions."
"Let us hope they go unused," Balgruuf said.
"My Jarl, allow me to advise one last time that you leave for your own safety," Irileth said.
"By the gods, woman, I'm staying," Balgruuf protested. "I'll be famouser than Olaf One-Eye!"
"Think of the songs they'll sing of Dragonsreach," Ulfric spoke up. He wondered if that was why Hrongar was nowhere to be found. If Balgruuf died on the Porch, he would need an heir that wasn't too young to drink ale.
Balgruuf chuckled and walked over to clasp Ulfric's shoulder. He flinched at the contact, seeing the battlelust in Balgruuf's eyes and knowing that it was nothing short of a miracle that his head wasn't decorating Dragonsreach Hall underneath Numinex's. "Sovngarde awaits, Irileth. I'll have one hell of a story to tell in Shor's Mead Hall after today!"
Ulfric refused to even entertain the idea that he wouldn't be allowed in Sovngarde. He had to be, at least for today. He decided to postpone that spiritual crisis until later. Much later.
"I'd recommend not going to Sovngarde until Alduin is no more," the Dragonborn said.
"I'd recommend not dying at all," Irileth added. She twirled her arrow impatiently.
"Oh, let them have their fun," the Dragonborn said. "We can't all drink and fight for eternity." Irileth glared at her, the Dragonborn smiled back. The same battle-ready gleam shone in her eyes as did Balgruuf's. "Though we can try," she added.
Irileth scoffed in response. No telling glow could be found from a quick scan of her red eyes, all that Ulfric found there was impatience and worry, likely for her Jarl. Balgruuf patted Ulfric on the back and released his grip. He hoped that good-natured pre-battle sentiment towards him would remain at least until he could leave Whiterun. Balgruuf would come to his senses sooner or later and he didn't want to be around for his death warrant to be issued.
"Khajiit is in no hurry to die," J'zargo said, walking past them in the direction of the balcony. "But Khajiit will not hinder you. Let us hurry up and get this over with."
"I'll agree with the Khajiit," Irileth said. "The sooner you call this damned dragon, the sooner it lies dead on the porch."
"So eager," the Dragonborn said under her breath. "Alright, then, Jarl, anything you'd like to say to your soldiers?"
"I'll let you do the honors." Balgruuf stepped back and gestured to the center of the porch.
The Dragonborn took a deep breath and stepped forwards. "Attention, guards, soldiers, Shield-Brothers and Sisters!" She began, drawing the attention of the guards. The archers on the promenade moved to the railing to listen and the swordsmen on the ground stood up a bit straighter. "I'm sure all of you have heard; today, we follow in the steps of the great Olaf One-Eye, and trap the mighty beast Odahviing! Today, every single one of you honors the gods, your ancestors; all of Skyrim-no, all of Nirn will look upon this day as the beginning of the end of the reign of the dragons." She paused for a cry of agreement from the soldiers, from Balgruuf, Farengar, even Irileth yelled along. Ulfric kept his mouth shut.
"No more shall we live in fear of the skies! Archers, may your arrows strike true, aim for the eyes and the wings. Weaken him so that he can't fly. Strike true and fast. Once we get him to land on the porch, hold your fire except on my order. Those of us on the ground will lure him into the trap; soldiers, try and stay to his sides where his belly is weak. Watch for the tail more than anything, it hits like a charging mammoth. As soon as you hear his roar, drink your potions! May our battle lead us to Sovengarde, and our victory live on in legend! Now, take your positions, for Whiterun!"
"For Whiterun!" The battle cry echoed through the Grand Porch, out onto the plains. Seconds followed and screams of 'for Whiterun' could be heard bouncing around the entire city.
"My citizens, I hold you as dear as my own children," Balgruuf said. "I can think of none I would rather fight beside!" He pulled a horn from his side and took a deep breath before blowing. A deep, stable note rang out; soon it was joined by bells from the city. Balgruuf turned to the Dragonborn. "As your Jarl, I command you to call that damned dragon," Balgruuf ordered with a grin and a flash of sorrow.
"As you wish," the Dragonborn replied, giving an exaggerated bow. "Come on then, decoy Dovahkiin." She grabbed Ulfric's hand and he had time to blink twice at the sudden contact before she led him towards the balcony. He tried to jerk his hand away at their first steps but she held fast. "Damn shame it's only one dragon," she said low enough that only he could hear it. "Everyone's all riled up for nothing. Imagine how excited they'll all be for a battle against Alduin."
The archers moved to formation on the promenade balconies as they passed, and three guards had beaten them to holding the main balcony in triad. As the Dragonborn led him past the end of the roof and closer to the apex of the balcony, he turned. Balgruuf stood with fire and confidence just at the edge of the roof between Irileth, already with her arrow nocked, and Farengar, who looked absolutely giddy. J'zargo was waiting at the end of the roof, dwarfed by the stone wall he leaned against, nonchalant save for the flames licking their way up past his elbows, Lydia pulling her ebony bow from her back and testing the string tension, giving Ulfric a nod.
The bells from the city faded into echo, and then to nothing, leaving the air still in the silence. It seemed the whole world was waiting for the Dragonborn's next move; even Kynareth's winds had stopped dead. Finally, the Dragonborn released his hand and took a step, two, three steps forwards until she rested her hands on the low stone wall that saved the clumsy from a hundred or more foot fall.
She turned her head back to him. "You know, Ulfric, you're not quite as unbearable as you act like you are." Then, before Ulfric could even decide if that was a compliment or an insult, she smirked wickedly. The fate world rested on her shoulders and she damn knew it, and she wanted to make sure everyone else damn knew it, too. "Talos guide you!" The Dragonborn yelled loud enough for everyone on the Porch to hear, and turned back to face the north plains.
"ODAHVIING!"
And the Dragonborn collapsed as her Shout resounded and echoed with such a force that Ulfric felt it hit him like a mace, then like a shield, less and less until it faded to a nothingness. Ulfric knelt down to catch her before she hit her head, and pulled her to a sitting position against the wall. Lydia jumped forwards, throwing down her bow and running towards her Thane, a healing potion already in hand as the Dragonborn sat gasping on the stones. Each breath came fast and graveled.
"Get her out of here!" Ulfric hissed. Lydia nodded and pulled her up by her shoulders as J'zargo came running to help.
He never made it to her. Ulfric watched as he was suddenly scooped up by a dragon's foot. Blood sprinkled the balcony from where talons had pierced him as the silent dragon eclipsed the sun and carried the shrieking, cursing Khajiit away. The archers shot their arrows, just missing the dragon as spells of fire and lightning and ice battered the its belly until it finally roared a terrible, bone shattering roar and threw J'zargo. He plummeted out of sight. Ulfric tried to calculate the angle to figure if he would land within the city, where perhaps one of the healers could get to him, or if he would smash against the stone walls or ground far beneath the hill.
"Dovahkiin! Zu'u bo hon beliil. Dii Thu'um, lahvui, grah hin, ol hi laan! (Dragonborn! I come to answer your challenge. My Voice, my army, against yours, as you request!)" Odahviing said. He landed on the roof, out of Ulfric's sight and out of the archer's as well, as they weren't drawing their bows. He laughed- dragons laughed?-and a different dragon roared in the distance.
Then another, and another, and all at once Ulfric watched as one, two, ten, twenty dragons crested the far off mountains, flying straight to Whiterun.