The cart jerked violently as it hit another pothole in the road. Thiessen locked his teeth together to stifle a groan as it rocked his spine yet again. He was freezing, every joint ached. After being dragged from the Riverwood Trader to a small, windowless room, they'd been roughed up. The bruises on his back and arms were just starting to raise. He could barely see out his right eye. He'd gotten the worst of it, coming up with a convincing story about losing the claw to bandits in the mountains before they'd had too much of a chance to start on Ransom. She had her own problems. In the two days that they'd had to rot before the cart had come to collect them, her sight had returned, but it seemed like the skin on her cheek and near her lip on the right side would be forever pockmarked.

She was asleep now, her head in his lap, curled up in a little ball. They had been sleeping in shifts as they were transported along the winding mountain path from Riverwood. He wasn't sure exactly where they were going, but from the flurries that spiralled through the air, and the strange uniform of the guards who marched along next to the wagon, he could be certain they weren't going back to Riften. He wasn't sure how he was going to break that to Ransom. He'd heard stories of holds that cut off the hands of thieves, or hung everyone found guilty of a crime. They'd managed to avoid the worst of it back in Riften. Being a member of the thieves guild meant they were under the protection of Maven.

Another bump jostled Ransom awake. She sat up slowly, rubbing her neck.

"It's colder than before," she moaned.

"We're going farther north, to Whiterun maybe."

"Oh gods, please no..." The guard walking at the back shoved the butt of his pike through the bars, striking Ransom hard in the ribs.

"Quiet!" He barked threateningly. Ransom shrank away, leaning on Thiessen and resting her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her to keep her warm.

"Do you think we'll stay together?" she whispered. He shook his head, he didn't know. He wasn't even sure if he would live through this encounter, but he didn't have the heart to tell her that. She knew as well as he did that the nords of skyrim held no love for their kinds.

Slowly, the lonely cart descended from the mountains, into a wide open field. Off in the distance, the weathered palisades of Whiterun could be seen. Below them was an opulent, impressive estate. The family that owned it came out to watch as they passed, and it looked like one of the hands held eggs. Thiessen caught their eye and held it, giving them the most withering look he could manage. If you throw those, I'll find you and strangle you. They passed the estate without incident, but there were more farms on the way, more people standing out to watch the wretched fools as they were taken to meet their fate. They pointed and whispered, and Thiessen was filled with the overwhelming feeling of being on display.

He was distracted by a scream nearby, a mother with curious children. She was screaming and running for cover, grabbing their tiny hands and dragging them along behind her. A huge shadow slid fast over the ground. He didn't have enough time to find its source before the flames engulfed him.

x

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x

"A dragon? At Helgen?" Eyvindur exclaimed breathlessly, hands tight on the reigns as his sturdy horse raced across the countryside. His heart was beating so hard it felt as if his chest could not contain it. A dragon. Finally, after centuries of waiting, his family could serve their true purpose once more. He could serve his true purpose. He glanced over at Herrgund with wild excitement burning in his eyes. It made the old nord laugh.

"You're the only man on the face of Tamriel that would find joy in this news."

"Maybe the jarl knows where it's headed!" he laughed, even more adrenaline pumping into his veins as they came upon the crest of their mountain could be seen down below. One of the larger cities of Skyrim, there were farms and farmland scattered all around it. Dragonsreach soared high above the walls, and Eyvindur thought it fitting that he would get word of his first dragon from the Jarl of a true nord city, and the site of Numinex's prison. It would be a tale to tell his children's children.

A snap of the reigns, and his steed Gyllir started down the mountain path as quickly as Eyvindur dared to urge. It was craggy and narrow, and he knew it was a risky spot for any creature. Herrgund followed behind more slowly. Eyvindur was eager to hunt down the beast before it could do any more damage, but his friend was older and not fit for travelling with such fervor. He would have to leave him at Whiterun.

They made it into the field about the same time as a cart full of miserable-looking prisoners. Most of them were nord and imperial men, but two strange creatures were huddled together at the back trying to keep warm. One appeared to be a dunmer, clutching desperately to the front of a khajiit. The sight made him smirk; another beast on the wrong side of the law. He'd be hanging from the city walls by sundown.

A scream snapped his attention away from the cart. A woman standing near the stables. He saw the shadow pass over her, and a moment later, the beast came into view. A giant spined monster, with wings that stretched out impossibly far. It roared with a voice that sent shivers down his spine. It took in a great breath.

"Yol," it breathed, and fire spewed from its mouth, engulfing the road, the carriage, and the windmill of the nearby Pelagia farm. Nords scattered in all directions. The dragon laughed horribly. In the distance, Whiterun soldiers began pouring out of the Western Watchtower. Arrows flew into the sky, piercing through its hide.

Eyvindur didn't see any of this. As soon as he'd heard its roar, he'd dismounted. Off his back came his weapon, a specially made crossbow nearly the height of a man. One of its bolts was more like a spear than an arrow. He put it in and cranked it back in time for Herrgund to dismount and take his place crouched on the ground next to him.

"Shoot true, dragonborn!" He roared as the flames blazed across the landscape, turning the grasses to ash.

"Talos guide me," he whispered to his bolt. It let fly with such force that he had difficulty holding the bow steady. It arced gracefully in the air, before coming down dead in the centre of his foe's back. The dragon shrieked in pain, jerking suddenly and tumbling out of the sky. It hit the ground and skidded into the base of the Western Watchtower, rocking the entire landscape. Eyvindur threw the great crossbow on his back and remounted his horse faster than a man of his size should have been able.

It was back up when he closed in on the watchtower, shaking its massive, horned head. Guards were swarming around it like ants, but it ignored them, looking around for something in particular. It's cold, black eyes settled on Evyindur.

"Hin," it hissed. You. He dismounted and readied his blade. A strange calm came over him. He felt his amulet of Talos against his chest. His hands gripped the leather wrapped hilt tightly. His feet dug into the earth, ready as the dragon clawed up the path towards him, gaping mouth open, sword-like teeth coming for him. Gyllir reared and ran. Herrgund cried out for him.

It was a man's width away from him before he swung his broadsword. It crashed into the dragon's jaw with a sickening crunch, cutting through scale, flesh, and chipping bone. It's head jerked to the side, taken off guard by the nord's strength. He struck again, this time stabbing through its huge eye. It lunged for him, but with a missing eye it seemed disoriented, throwing him instead of grabbing him up in its maw. He was tossed like a ragdoll but somehow managed to maintain a hold on his sword. When the dragon came around for a second strike, he was ready. He launched himself under its open mouth and at its neck. His sword cut through its flesh so deep it almost nicked the spine. He'd missed his target, but the wound would do the job. Crimson poured down onto the nord.

The dragon didn't attack anymore. It kept glancing around oddly, like it wasn't quite sure why its life was draining out its throat. Eventually its remaining eye came to rest on Eyvindur.

"Dovahkin," it gurgled, more a question than a threat. Eyvindur sheathed his sword, triumphant.

"Indeed, beast. I am dragonborn, my blood goes back generations."

It grunted at him in reply, something that would have been a laugh if it had made it past the fatal wound. A tiny flame flickered into life at the tip of one wing. The dragon managed to draw in a deep final breath. It fanned the flame like bellows, and it took off along the lines of the dragon's body, cremating it from within. From the mouth, a swirling white light came pouring out. Eyvindur watched in amazement. It was exactly how the ancient texts had described.

The white light of the dragon soul shot towards him. He closed his eyes and prepared to receive it, silently thanking Mighty Talos for the strength to defeat such a monster.

He waited.

Nothing happened.