Alarm built up in his throat. He opened his eyes and looked down. The white light was flowing right into him. He could hear it whispering in the dragon tongue.

Through him. It was flowing right through him.

A cry of agony forced him to turn. He watched in horror as the light enveloped an onlooker crouching nearby. No, not just an onlooker, one of the vagabonds from the ruined carriage. She screamed and screamed, trying to fight it off. He should have helped her, but he couldn't move. Eventually, the light faded, finding its way into her own soul. She fell onto her hands and was sick. He approached her slowly. Nothing felt quite real. She was barely clothed, her rough tunic burnt to cinders despite the fact that her dunmer skin was unblemished. She looked underfed, even by waifish elf standards. Her eyes looked around wildly, trying to get up, but stumbling back down.

"Please," she finally managed to choke out, her right hand reaching out to him. He noticed an odd scar running across it. "Please he… he needs… please help… he, help," she mumbled stupidly, pointing at a body next to her. He'd assumed it was a corpse, but he realized that the unlucky khajiit was still gasping in ragged breaths.

"Take this one to Whiterun," he ordered the guards, waving his hand in the direction of the dunmer, who was still attempting to speak unintelligibly. The one nearest wrapped a thick arm around her waist and picked her up easily. Eyvindur then turned his attention to the beast. Everyone else in the area was dead, and he'd caught a bad break by being left to suffer a few minutes longer. There was only one merciful thing to do.

He reached for the hilt of his sword.

x

XxX

x

Ransom's ear were ringing, but she was aware of the fact that she was screaming. It felt like her skin had peeled off. It hurt so much, her brain was having trouble comprehending it. She remembered a shadow, a dragon. No, that can't be right. Dragons weren't real.

She felt the dirt and grass under her fingers as her skin grew back, and she scrambled over the ground on all fours. Only one thought pounded against the inside of her head, crowding out every other: Where was Thiessen? Her vision was white and fuzzy, and she had to crawl slowly along as it came back for the second time. Her hand connected with something charred and flakey. It smelled like burnt meat. She leaned in close.

It was a leg. She reared back in horror.

"Thiessen!" She screamed, looking frantically around at the carnage. She could see a couple metres away now, enough to see the upturned carriage, the dead bodies. The box full of the prisoner's belongings was open, its contents strewn about everywhere. "Thiessen?!" She saw a fleck of beige and brown between the heavy black bodies of the giant horses that had been pulling the cart. She tried to get up but her legs collapsed under her, and she had to crawl.

He was on his stomach, still as the grave. He didn't respond even as Ransom screamed his name. With a great deal of trouble and pain, she managed to roll him over. He looked even worse from the front. His whole left side was black as charcoal. Bits of his skin had fallen off, showing angry red, furless flesh. He was staring up at the sky, eyes wide in pain. At least, one was, the other one was lost in the black. His chest was heaving, breath coming in quick, wheezing gasps. She called his name again. It took him far longer than is should have to look around and notice her. He reached out his right, relatively undamaged hand. She clasped it helplessly.

"Are… you?" he choked.

"I'm okay! I'm okay," she promised.

"...Am I..?"

It took her longer to answer. "You're okay. Thiessen, you're going to be okay. I'll just have to…" she looked back over at the possessions chest. She'd had a small vial of potion tucked into her armour. She could see the thick red liquid oozing out of the box. "You have to be okay!" She wailed. He gripped her arm and pulled her close. She could smell his charred flesh.

"You have to go. While you still can… get out." She nodded. Her brain understood what he was saying. Whatever had caused the fire would return, and all their guards were dead. If she was going to get away, now would be the time to do it. Her brain understood, but her body stayed rooted, her hands tightly gripping his.

"Can you walk?" she whimpered stupidly. He didn't waste his breath to answer her. Instead, he slipped his hand gently out of hers and looked over at the wide expanse of field. Run while you still can.

An unearthly roar clipped her attention. She looked up and blinked. She had been so focussed on Thiessen she hadn't even noticed the war going on at the watchtower nearby. A nord warrior was locked in a deathmatch with something out of her nightmares: Black scales, a massive, muscular body, and a single hate filled eye. Had she not been so terrified, she would have recognized it from descriptions in some of her books, but her brain could not put two and two together. She picked up Thiessen's hand again, and he didn't resist. This can't be happening. She'd fallen asleep reading her books in the Cistern. She was having a nightmare.

And then it was dead. Two dozen soldiers had sent volley after volley of arrows into it, and it had hardly noticed. This man, clad in northern furs and wearing no hold symbol, had dealt the killing blow almost on his own.

"It's going to be okay," she promised Thiessen. "We're going to be okay. He'll…" A strange noise cut her off. It sounded like singing from afar, but in a language she didn't recognize. "Can you hear that?" she asked. He didn't reply. The strange music grew in volume until it was pressing against her eardrums, but there was still no obvious source.

"Dovahkin," a gurgling voice echoed in her skull. It burned like she was on fire all over again. She clutched at her skull, trying to understand everything that was happening. She looked up just in time to watch the dragon's soul flow out of its mouth, into the waiting nord. Through the nord, and directly at her. She tried to dive out of the way, but it followed her, and soon it was on her.

"Aakeksil. Qahnaarin, Ronaan, sah, tafiir. Yol, liz, fus…" The words pounded against her head, filling her until she thought she would split open. The light was all around her, obscuring everything else. She was screaming again. She lashed out blindly, but there was nothing to attack when the agony came from within. She doubled over and retched. Eventually, the light dissipated, the voice still muttering nonsense. The nord was standing over her.

"You?" he asked, the look on his face a mix of surprise and disgust. She reached her hand out to him. The world was spinning and she thought she might be sick again, but now that the voice had quieted she had room in her head again for her most pressing fear.

"Please...Please he… he needs… please help… he, help." She fought her tongue desperately to make a coherent sentence. Please, he needs help. He needs to see a mage or he is going to die. It was obvious and urgent, but somewhere between her tongue and her lips it became a jumbled mess. The nord shook his head in disbelief.

"Take this one to Whiterun," he ordered. Something wrapped around her waist and she was lifted up and put on her feet but they gave out underneath her. She was lifted up again, and this time she was practically carried. The motion was enough to send her head spinning all over again. They were taking her away, but she could see Thiessen still laying on the ground. Why was no one helping him? The dragon slayer stood over him thoughtfully. They guard that was carrying her from the field hefted her higher, turning away from them both. With some struggle, she managed to look over his shoulder. Just in time to see the nord's heavy blade rise over Thiessen's broken body.

"No!" The guard didn't expect her to break his grip so easily. Ransom didn't expect her legs to carry her back to Thiessen, much less give her the strength to throw herself onto his assailant. She used all the force she had in her body to try and topple him. He stumbled when her body made contact with his, but other than lowering his sword it didn't do much. She balled her hands up into fists and struck at his face.

"No!" she screamed again as the nord sheathed his blade and grabbed at both of her wrists. She started kicking him instead, anything to make him stop. He picked her up and threw her, slamming her into the ground so hard she swore she heard something crack. She got back up anyways, grabbing a nearby rock. She stood before him, unsteady but defiant, and prepared to strike again. Eyvindur countered her sloppy attacks easily, grabbing her arm and wrenching the rock out of her hand. Two guards came up on either side of her, grabbing her up and subduing her. She screamed and fought like a wild animal, but her burst of strength was dwindling. Eyvindur looked over at the beast she was protecting.

"Bring that one too," he sighed in defeat. A guard nearby scooped up the khajiit in his arms and followed close behind the dunmer. Eyvindur watch them go, feeling heavy and hollow. A heavy hand landed on his shoulder. Herrgund. He was looking at him with an expression of pure sorrow.

"Jarl Balgruff must be informed."

Eyvindur nodded numbly. They brought up the rear of the pathetic little convoy on it's way to Whiterun

x

xXx

x

Mighty Talos, please, tell me where I fail you.

Eyvindur scrunched his eyes closed even tighter in concentration. He had been kneeling at the foot of Talos' statue for hours, hands clasped in prayer, practically begging for some sign from above that he was being heard. The cold air was mercifully lacking the usual fanatical preaching of Heimskr, who was off sulking after being shooed away. Eyvindur needed time alone with his god. Now, his hands were growing cold, and he couldn't feel his knees, and Talos seemed no closer to providing him with divine insight. This was his mission, his calling. He could track his blood back to the dragon slaying ancestors of old. Without, there was nothing inside him but a chill colder than any he'd ever felt before.

Why this girl instead of me? This dark elf stray instead of a devoted son of Skyrim. I only wish to serve you, Talos. Please, let me serve…

His knuckes were starting to go white from the strength of his own grip, and he could feel tears stinging his eyes, so he dejectedly picked himself up from his prostrations and dusted himself off. He inspected the massive statue one more time, looked into the eyes of the serpent dying under Talos' blade.

"Are you quite finished yet?" the irritating voice of Heimskr asked at his elbow. "Some of us have important work to do, spreading the holy word."

His comment struck a little to close to home, and it was all Eyvindur could do to pick up his horned helm and walk away instead of striking the tiny man. He slowly heaved himself up the many steps to the cloud district. Every part of him felt a little bit heavier than it had been just a few hours ago. He walked in a fog, not even hearing the voices of the many nobles calling his name in greeting. The guards of Whiterun nodded to him as he approached Dragonsreach, and opened the impressive carved doors without a word.

Herrgund was sitting at the long table, the first major installation in the enormous great hall of the castle. It was well adorned with food for the jarl's guests, but Herrgund was nursing only a bottle of nord mead, looking very grim indeed. Eyvindur sat down across from him.

"Any word from the jarl?" he asked mechanically. Herrgund shook his head.

"He's in council now, deciding what is to be done about all this. She's been in hysterics since they brought her here, and the beast is barely hanging on…" He looked cautiously up at Eyvindur, who was milling over his own bottle. "Did you hear the Grey Beards call?"

"Yes. It happened while I was praying. There's no doubt now."

"Damn and blast, Eyvindur, how could this be? There's no man in all of Skyrim worthier than you."

"No man, no…"

"And now, what do we have, some filthy dark elf half breed? It just can't be."

"Half breed?" Eyvindur breathed in horror.

"The housecarl here is sure of it. She says to me, 'have you ever seen an elf with the eyes of a nord?' Some dirty blooded thing they've got locked up there, disgusting."

Eyvindur put his head in his hands. It got worse, it could only get worse. Herrgund watched him sadly.

"I'm going home in the morning, I think it's best you come with me. Maybe you're not meant to be the dragonborn, but Ulfric would take you with open arms."

"Perhaps that would be best," Eyvindur agreed weakly. The sound of heavy boots on the wood floor made him look up. Balgruuf's housecarl, Irileth, was coming towards them with a purposeful stride. He glared at her and looked away. The last thing he needed was to deal with some dark elf. She either didn't see his withering gaze, or she ignored it.

"Balgruuf and the council want to speak with you," she told him flatly. He glanced at Herrgund, who shrugged. Eyvindur rose from his seat and followed Irileth past the throne at the far end of the great hall and up a flight of stairs. On the second story, a gaggle of older men were bent over a table, engaged in furious conversation. They all quieted as Eyvindur came near, parting to give him a clear line of sight to the jarl, who looked troubled. He looked up at the nord with a hard expression on his face.

"The girl is the dragonborn?" he asked simply. Eyvindur nodded. The crowd broke into frantic whispers again as they rehashed the details of the dragon attack. Eyvindur listened, only breaking in to comment when necessary. Balgruuf eventually held up his hand, and they all fell silent.

"She must go to High Hrothgar immediately."

"Yes, ser, but I don't know if she will go willingly."

"Oh trust me, she'll be willing enough when she finds out I'm the only reason the khajiit is still alive," Farengar said calmly. "If she's as desperate to protect him as you say, she'll do what we tell her in order to keep him safe."

"Still," Balgruuf said, "she's no warrior. You were the one that slayed the dragon, not her. I don't think she could make it up the 7000 Steps on her own. I want you to go with her. I understand that this must be difficult for you, but you are still the one and only dragonslayer."

"...Of course, Jarl Balgruuf." He agreed uneasily. He almost declined, but then he thought of his petition to Talos. At least, in this way, he could serve.

"I'll prepare her," Irileth volunteered, "she may still need some convincing."

"Try not to scare her," Balgruuf sighed. Irileth didn't reply, but she had a look on her face that said she wouldn't be trying too hard. Eyvindur watched her depart but didn't follow her. He didn't want to see their dark elf prisoner at that moment, so he busied himself with the details of their trip instead. Eventually though, he could put it off no longer, and he trudged to the estate room that held her captive. The door was open, and he could hear strange noises coming out of it, like an animal choking.

"...and if you so much as think about running away, I'll have you dragged back here in chains, and you'll live just long enough to see your khajiit's head nailed to the walls of Dragonreach, understand?"

Eyvindur cautiously entered. Ransom was pinned to the wall by Irileth, who's gauntleted hand was wrapped around her throat. Ransom was coughing and choking, both her hands wrapped around Irileth's wrist. She nodded weakly, and Irileth released her. Ransom fell heavily backwards, touching her neck and breathing oddly.

"She's ready for you," Irileth said, stepping out of the way and exiting the room. Ransom looked up at him, but didn't hold his gaze. Eyvindur nervously glanced the way Irileth had gone.

"Did she tell you your fate?"

"I'm going with you to Ivarstead."

"That's right. We are to leave as soon as we are able." He glanced at the bed and saw a set of decent, full body leather armour laid out for her. "Is there anything else you need?"

"I want to see Thiessen," she demanded angrily. Her voice was stern, but her eyes didn't rise from the floor, it was a strange sight.

"I'm sure that can be arranged as long as you cooperate."

She didn't reply, just used the wall as a support to haul herself back to her feet. She crossed the room slowly, favouring her right leg, and sat down on the bed to sort out the chest piece.

"Are you hurt?" he asked suspiciously.

"I'm fine, just give me a hand with this."

"You need help to put on your own armour?"

"This isn't my armour, it's Thiessen's," she explained as she slipped her arms through a the set of leather sleeves and buckled them under her bust. "I tried to explain that to that woman… Nevermind, I'll manage."

Eyvindur watched awkwardly as she went about dressing herself. The jacket-like chest piece went over her head next and she fumbled with the straps that criss-crossed it, trying to tighten it properly. Thick plates covered her shoulders and upper arms, and she strapped bracers to her forearm.

"Satisfied?" she asked as she tightened the buckles on her boots. Those, at least, were hers. Eyvindur nodded, and stepped aside to let her pass. He guided her down through Dragonsreach and into the dungeons. They weren't like what she was used to from Riften. They were underground, dark, and wet. The stonework felt slimy and oppressive around her. Her heart broke as she thought of the time Thiessen would spend here alone. A door clanged open at the very end of the hall, and the darkly robed Farengar stepped out.

"Good evening, Eyvindur, dragonborn. The beast man is alive, although it may have been kinder to let him pass. He is weak but I'm confident he will recover under my attention."

Ransom pushed past him, garnering a slew of hard looks from guards, which she ignored. Her attention was solely focussed on the cell's one inhabitant. He was laying on the floor, under a few thin blankets. Most of his body was covered in bandages, freshly changed and white. One bleary eye opened as she approached, and a familiar smile flashed. Ransom dropped to her knees next to him, gripping his offered hand tightly and looking him over. Somehow, it seemed worse than she remembered it. He looked like a freshly wrapped corpse.

"Where have you been?" he asked, concern obvious despite the hoarseness of his voice. "When I woke and you weren't here, I was sure they'd taken you away forever…"

"No, I'm afraid you're not rid of me yet."

"The magician says I will live,. Though, I don't know why they would save me just to hang me. Do you think they will send us back to Riften instead? Maven is known here."

"I don't think they'll send us home… I think… maybe they'll have mercy on us."

"Nords are not ones for mercy." He glanced over Ransom's shoulder and saw Eyvindur standing at the door, watching them. The look on Thiessen's face said he remembered everything. "I want to ask you if you've bargained for my life, but I'm afraid of what I might hear."

"There wasn't any bargaining. They want me to go to High Hrothgar or they kill us both."

"Then a bargain was made… just not one in our favour. Where is High Hrothgar?"

"Near Ivarstead, I think… they think I'm a hero, and some men on a mountaintop are calling me."

"Heh, won't they be disappointed… is that my armour?" He rolled her hand over in his to inspect a symbol stitched into the brown hide. He'd sewn it himself, in the same colour as the leather so it was almost impossible to see unless you ran your hand over it.

"Yes. They said I could have my own, but I don't know what they'd do with these, so I took them."

"I'm glad. It won't do me any good here. Take my bow and arrows too, if you can find them. Then, it will be like taking me with you."

"I don't want to leave without you. We were supposed to find trouble together."

"We did find trouble… let's not do it again, alright? I don't think I can take much more of this," he chuckled good-naturedly. He squeezed her hand lightly when her sad face didn't change. "I wasn't so sad when the fire came, you know. It hurt, but I knew, well, I thought it would only hurt for a little while, and then I'd be gone. I wasn't sad, because it was fire, and I knew you'd be safe in the end. Just be safe, Ransom, and don't worry about me. I'll stay here and be a good boy and not give you any reason to fret. And Ransom…" he tugged on her a little, and she leaned in close, "remember to look out for yourself, before anyone else, understand?"

Eyvindur coughed loudly, and she leaned back automatically. They didn't say anything else, just spent a few more minutes sitting and enjoying the feeling of being in the same room together. The Divines only knew when they could possibly enjoy the privilege again. Thiessen's grip seemed to get weaker and weaker as they sat, making a rock grow in Ransom's stomach.

"Dragonborn," Eyvindur finally said. Her eyes squeezed tight shut to try and block out his next words, but they came anyways. "We can't keep the Greybeards waiting."