Into the Maelstrom Chapter 40, an elder scroll series fanfic

Chapter 40

"I don't understand, Dragonborn," General Tullius frowned. "What is this Blackreach you mention?"

"It's a vast underground complex of caverns," Ulfric explained. "It was hollowed out millennia ago by the dwarves, before they all disappeared."

"It's more than that," Balgruuf concurred. "It's a series of interconnected Dwemer cities deep under Winterhold and the Pale. It even extends under Hjaalmarch."

"How is it the Legion knows nothing of this?" Tullius demanded.

Ulfric smirked. "You're not a Nord. We've known about it for centuries. There are legends about the wonders of the Dwarven cities hidden beneath our feet."

"But there was no way to get into it," Balgruuf added. "The entrance to that area was sealed off ages ago. No one knows where it is, or how to get in."

Tullius turned to Marcus. "And you know how to get in?" he asked skeptically.

"I not only know how, but I've been there," he replied calmly, repressing a shudder that ran through him at the memories that place evoked. "In fact," he continued, remembering something, "I have something that came from there that I meant to give to the Arch-Mage. If you'll all give me a moment, I'll go get it."

At their collective nods, Marcus left the conference chamber, but returned several moments later with something in his hands; a round ball of Dwarven metal in one, and a long, flimsy something carefully wrapped in a piece of soft leather in the other. He presented the leather-wrapped bundle to Tamsyn.

"I've been meaning to give this to you for a while, now," he said. "But things kept happening and it slipped my mind."

Tamsyn took the delicately wrapped package and glanced up at Marcus.

"Is this what I think it is?" she asked.

Marcus rolled his eyes. "Probably," he grinned. "I can't keep secrets from you, it seems. Go ahead and open it."

Tamsyn carefully set the bundle on the table and peeled back the layers of chamois that preserved a single stalk of crimson nirnroot.

Everyone around the table, except Master Arngeir, craned their necks for a better look.

"Is that—" Rikke began. "Is that a nirnroot?"

Tamsyn nodded.

"I've never seen one that color before!" Elisif breathed. "It's beautiful!"

"Did it make that annoying sound before you picked it?" Galmar grumbled. "I hate those things. They make my ears hurt."

Marcus chuckled. "Yeah," he admitted sheepishly. "I had to pick it to get any sleep that night. My Housecarl Argis and I found many of these down in Blackreach, but I only brought the one sample back."

General Tullius looked dubious. "Alright," he said finally. "Let's agree, for the sake of argument, that you've found a way into this Blackreach area. How does that help us defeat the Thalmor?"

Delphine looked at him in surprise. "Are you kidding me, General?" she exclaimed. "If Marcus is correct, and there are several interconnected Dwarven cities beneath our very feet, it presents a host of opportunities for us to build up our forces, stockpile weapons and supplies and train up battlemages without alerting the Aldmeri Dominion!" She turned to Marcus, barely able to contain her eagerness. "How many entrances did you say there were down there?

Marcus looked nonplussed. "I'm not sure," he said hesitantly, absently tossing the sphere between his gauntleted hands. "Argis and I went in through Alftand, but we came out a different way."

Tullius rumbled deep in his throat, but Tamsyn was already pulling a map out of her satchel, after carefully tucking the crimson nirnroot away.

"There are three main points of entry," she explained, unfolding the map and smoothing it down on the table. "At Alftand, where Marcus entered, and also at Mzinchaleft and Raldbthar." She pointed them out on her chart. "Near each of these Dwemer ruins are elevators – lifts, in fact – that would allow a short-cut to the surface from within the caverns underground. The exit Marcus used is here, at the Tower of Mzark."

"Seven points of entry to cover," Delphine mused. "That's not good."

"It's actually not seven," Tamsyn replied. "It's really only three. The lifts are only accessible from inside Blackreach. Once they're closed topside, you can't get into the underground from that point. You have to go through the ruins themselves."

Delphine looked relieved. "That's much easier to defend," she nodded.

"I had to use a special Dwarven sphere to get into Blackreach from Alftand," Marcus pointed out, holding it up for all to see. "If we intend to use these other locations, you'll need the sphere." He handed it over to Jarl Balgruuf, who looked surprised to be handed such a valuable artifact. "You're the fairest man I know, Jarl," he smiled. "I know I can trust you to do the right thing with this, if—" The smile died on his lips as the enormity of the task before him suddenly loomed over his head once more.

If he failed to destroy Alduin, none of these plans for the future mattered. Even if he succeeded, there was every possibility he could die in the attempt – permanently – and there would be no chance at a second life, as he'd been given this time.

"I won't let you down, Dragonborn," Balgruuf promised quietly.

There were details to be worked out, certainly. Logistics that needed to be addressed and lists composed of the supplies and resources that would be needed. Both Ulfric and Tullius pledged support of the plan, and Delphine, once she had the bare bones, took over managing the minutiae needed to get things done. Her influence on Madanach could not be discounted, as he seemed willing enough to commit his resources to the "Grand Plan", as he called it, on her say-so alone.

"My people won't go underground," Madanach said. "We prefer the wide open areas of the Reach. But there are Dwemer ruins there, too, that we can use if needed to hide numbers."

"Your people will be of more use keeping the Thalmor patrols out of the areas around the ruins," Marcus said. "Or really, out of any place they shouldn't be."

"That's everywhere," Madanach quipped drily. "They regularly send patrols out, passing through the Reach, heading for Falkreath, Whiterun and points east. We can keep them busy."

"Just don't take unnecessary risks," Marcus warned. "They can't know you've taken sides."

"Got it," the Reach-King nodded. "Take no prisoners, leave no left-overs."

Elisif paled and sidled closer to Rikke.

"I didn't mean literally, Jarl," Madanach grinned, a twinkle in his eye. "It was just a figure of speech; something we say in the Reach as a joke."

Solitude's Jarl smiled tremulously, but her manner indicated she was anything but assured.

"I've got some contacts," Delphine told Marcus now. "People in places that can help us harry the Thalmor without calling attention to themselves."

"I just want to sabotage their plans," Marcus told her by way of instruction. "Hamstring them. Hurt them in places they aren't expecting to get hurt. I want them to waste time tracking down rumors while we're busy in other areas."

"I've been at this a long time, Dragonborn," she smiled. "I know what we need. And I'll get right on it."

"Just don't share the details with me, Grand Master," General Tullius said. "The less I know about that, the better. I'd like to be able to tell the Thalmor Ambassador that these troubled times bring out the worst in people, and that I'm spread too thin to address the matter."

Delphine grinned. "You have a very sneaky side to you, General," she approved.

"I'm an Imperial," he grunted. "We're raised on political intrigue. It doesn't mean I have to like it."

"What we really want to do is make the Thalmor waste their own precious resources running down rumors," Tamsyn said.

"I can help with that," Ulfric said with a wolfish smile. "If they want to rout out Talos worshippers, I'll give them Talos worshippers."

"You aren't going to put yourself in danger, are you, Ulfric?" Elisif gasped, forgetting his title for the moment.

"Not a chance," he smiled. "I won't go into details here, but there are Shrines to Talos all over Skyrim, and the Thalmor haven't found them all – yet." He gave another feral grin. "Perhaps they need a few anonymous tips."

"Does this mean you won't attack my city?" Jarl Balgruuf asked bluntly.

Ulfric eyed him for a long moment, then looked at the expectant faces staring at him intently from around the table. His gaze lingered the longest on the hopeful expression in Jarl Elisif's eyes.

"Aye," he agreed, and the word seemed to have been dragged from him. "I won't attack Whiterun. At least—" He held up a hand to forestall the sighs of relief. "At least until the Dragonborn has fulfilled his destiny, and we can determine if our efforts in his absence have borne fruit. After that…well, we'll see."

It was tenuous at best, but at least Marcus was assured no immediate skirmishes would break out. The very real worry of what might happen to this truce if he failed to kill Alduin was always in the back of his mind.

Jarl Balgruuf, satisfied that his borders were safe, granted Marcus permission to use Dragonsreach to trap a dragon, just as soon as they returned to Whiterun. While relieved he could fulfil his mission, it was a duty Marcus was more than willing to put off as long as possible. He felt nowhere near ready to Shout down Alduin and beat the crap out of him. For now, he pushed it to the back of his mind with his other worries and concentrated on planning out the covert operations they were setting in motion.

It was decided that initial underground training camps of mixed Imperial and Stormcloak forces would be established at Raldbthar and Mzinchaleft in Blackreach, with additional camps in Bthardamz – comprised of mainly Imperials – and Mzulft – made up primarily of Stormcloaks. As the camps became secure, they would spread out, adding and mixing up more soldiers as necessary. Troops would be rotated every few weeks, to give them an opportunity to get used to working with each other. There was still some concern over how well they would work together, but all agreed nothing would be accomplished if they didn't make an effort. The talks adjourned, having reached an accord acceptable to all. Ulfric and Elisif exited together, her hand on his arm. Balgruuf and Tullius frowned, but Rikke and Galmar fell in behind the two Jarls, and Tamsyn lifted her eyebrows at the General and Whiterun's Jarl so archly that they subsided without saying anything.

It was much later that Marcus was finally able to keep his promise to Tamsyn, taking her up to visit Paarthurnax. The old dragon was delighted when the Arch-Mage spoke to him in halted dovahzul, and named her dovah fahdon, "dragon friend." For her part, Tamsyn was in awe of the old dragon, a figure she had seen only in a video game, so long ago in another life. They talked for hours, about everything under the sun, and Tamsyn broke down and wept when they finally had to leave, hugging the ancient drake's nose. Marcus was surprised and pleased to see Paarthurnax accept the embrace.

"You have chosen well, Dovahkiin," said Paarthurnax quietly, obviously moved. "Now go. Confront your destiny."

For quite a while, as they made their way back down to High Hrothgar, Marcus said nothing. Finally, he pulled her into the lee of an outcropping of rock and held her close.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

Huddled against his chest, Tamsyn nodded. "Thank you for taking me to see him," she whispered, in the calm that followed Marcus' last Shout. "I can't believe I actually got to meet him! He was quite possibly my favorite character in the game. When the Blades—" She stopped.

"What about the Blades?" he asked.

"In the game," she began slowly. "They were so…anal!" She gave a weak laugh. "Honestly, I hated Delphine at one point."

"You mean when they gave me an ultimatum?" he prompted.

Tamsyn looked up at him. "They know, then? I mean, here? They know?"

Marcus nodded. "Yeah. They told me that Paarthurnax was a dangerous, evil dragon and had to die for his past crimes. I talked them out of it. Made them realize they'd be far worse off without my cooperation."

Tamsyn snuggled back into his arms. "I'm glad," she said. "I wasn't sure if you'd had that conversation with them yet. If you don't go back to Sky Haven Temple in the game, Delphine and Esbern show up here for the peace talks, and they confront you with it then."

"That seems rather brazen," Marcus commented. "Waltz right into High Hrothgar and demand that I kill the leader of the Greybeards?"

"I didn't say the game made sense all the time," Tamsyn chuckled. "I could never bring myself to kill him, in any of my play-throughs. As soon as I got the Blades to Sky Haven Temple, I left them there."

"I almost did," Marcus admitted. "Say, let me ask you something."

He felt her stiffen ever so slightly, and knew she was on her guard once more against telling him too much. He yearned for the day when they could just be frank with each other. "Go ahead," she replied.

"In the game, did Madanach take part in the peace talks?"

Tamsyn laughed out loud. "No!" she exclaimed, eyes twinkling as she looked up at him. "You have well and truly departed from the script, my friend!"

"Hmm," Marcus mused. "So why do you think he gave in so easily?" he went on. "I really expected him to put up a much bigger fight over his lands than he did."

"Maybe he realized it was in his best interests to cooperate?" Tamsyn hedged. Marcus wasn't buying it.

"It had to be more than that," he insisted. "Come on, sweetheart. Don't hold out on me. Why did Madanach cave in?"

"Damn you," she muttered. "You had to go and call me that, didn't you?"

Marcus grinned in spite of himself. "If I'd have known that was all it took, I'd have been doing it sooner. Come on, spill it."

"It's because of Nepos," she finally admitted.

"Nepos?" Marcus blinked. "That guy that Balgruuf wants to put in charge?" Marcus thought back, and remembered the odd look on both Madanach's and Tamsyn's faces when the Jarl of Whiterun had proposed the change. It was almost as if they knew something about Nepos that Balgruuf didn't know.

Nepos. Nepos. He knew he'd heard the name before. Suddenly it hit him: Nepos. Nepos the Nose. N.

"He's in Madanach's pay!" Marcus realized. "He's the one who sent the goon after me in Markarth, when I was investigating the Silver-Bloods!"

Tamsyn nodded.

"No wonder Madanach didn't object!" Marcus exclaimed. "He'll have his buddy on the inside managing things for him until he can get the Reach turned over to him! That sneaky son of a bitch! And Balgruuf doesn't know?"

"None of them do," Tamsyn said. "And you're not going to tell them, either."

Marcus simmered. "Is this one of those things that has to happen?" he asked.

Tamsyn's hair glinted copper in the waning sunlight as she nodded. "Out of all the possible futures I've sifted through, this is the best way to get the Reach back for the Reachfolk with the least amount of bloodshed. This has to happen."

Marcus considered this. He was all for a minimal amount of blood to be spilled, but he still didn't like being duped. He took small comfort in the knowledge that the man had been chosen by Balgruuf himself as the best possible candidate.

They returned to High Hrothgar in silence after that, each wrapped up in their own thoughts. The delegates stayed one more day at the monastery, to hammer out some final details concerning supply lines and covert troop movements, then the entire company bid farewell to the Greybeards, thanking them for their hospitality. Marcus had the distinct feeling Master Arngeir was happy to see them go, and for that he was sorry. While they had accomplished most of what he had hoped to obtain on this trip, it still upset him that they had inconvenienced the quiet old monks as much as they had.

They encountered no trouble on the way down, and as they rounded the final bend, they could see Ivarstead spread out below them. A sea of comingled red, brown, blue and bronze filled the center of town, and even from here they could hear the roar of many voices on the wind.

"Oh no!" Elisif cried. "They're not fighting, are they?"

"They'd better not be," Marcus said grimly. "We'd better get down there right now!"

They picked up their speed, and a thousand things ran through Marcus' mind. What had happened? Were Hadvar and Ralof unable to prevent their men from going for each other's throats? Were the people of the town alright? Who was responsible for breaking the peace? Whoever it was, he wanted that man's ass in a sling. There were going to be some harsh words when he got a hold of them. And maybe afterwards he'd let Tullius and Ulfric deal with their troops.

But as they crossed the bridge and hurried up the hill into town, they realized the roar of the crowd was not angry. It sounded more like…encouragement. A broad grin spread out over Marcus' face, and he relaxed.

"I don't think they're fighting," he commented to the others as they pushed their way through the crowd.

"Ten septims on Ralof!" said one Stormcloak.

"I'll take that bet!" grinned an Imperial. "Hadvar's going to twist his arm off!"

"Come on, Hadvar!" called another Imperial, enthusiastically. "Show him the strength of the Legion!"

"Pride of the Stormcloaks, Ralof!" shouted a Stormcloak woman. Marcus thought it might have been Dagmar, but he wasn't sure.

"What in blazes is going on here?" General Tullius roared, catching up to them. Several Imperial soldiers standing nearby suddenly found someplace else to be.

"Is this what I think this is?" Ulfric demanded, an incredulous look on his face. His Stormcloak soldiers did double-takes, but didn't back down.

"It's Ralof versus the Imperial captain, Hadvar, Jarl Ulfric," one soldier grinned. "They've been going at it for ten minutes now!"

The corner of Ulfric's mouth lifted.

"I thought I gave orders there was to be no hostilities," Tullius frowned.

"It's not hostilities, Tullius," Ulfric replied, grinning openly now. "It's competition."

"What?"

"It would appear Ralof and Hadvar are arm-wrestling to settle a disagreement," Marcus explained, chuckling himself.

"You're joking!" the General said in disbelief. His bewilderment only increased as they pushed their way to the front of the crowd to find Ralof and Hadvar seated on opposite sides of a large tree stump, hands locked together, elbows on the stump, each of them straining to push the other man's arm down. Though clearly having been at it for a while already, neither showed any signs of backing down. Both men were flushed and grunting, and beads of sweat were dripping down their faces.

"Show that Imperial what it means to be a Stormcloak, Ralof!" Ulfric called. Tullius shot him a withering look.

Surprised only for a moment, Ralof's arm twitched, giving Hadvar a chance to push him back. But Ralof rallied, knowing he had his Jarl's support now, and his arm inched its way vertical again.

"You're a soldier in the Imperial Legion, Hadvar!" Tullius roared back, eyes glinting in what could only be described as amusement. "We never give up! Make us proud!"

Giving a jerk of his head as acknowledgement, Hadvar renewed his efforts, straining to push Ralof's arm flat. Knowing their commanders approved, the crowd picked up their voices once more, calling out encouragement. The betting continued as well.

Marcus watched, thoroughly entertained, as the struggle continued for another ten minutes or so before finally, inexorably, Ralof pushed Hadvar's arm past the point of recovery. It wasn't flat on the stump, but after another five minutes of grunting, sweating and straining, Hadvar could no longer keep his arm up, and with a resounding "thunk!" his gauntleted fist hit the wood. Cheers erupted on both sides of the crowd, and while septims exchanged hands, no one seemed disappointed or upset at the outcome. Ralof and Hadvar shook hands – not the ones they'd wrestled with – and pounded each other on the back.

"Well, Tullius?" Ulfric smirked.

General Tullius scowled, but said drily, "Good man you've got there, Stormcloak." He crossed to Hadvar and clapped him on the shoulder. "You made a valiant effort, soldier," he said. "We'll have to schedule a re-match."

"Let me know when you do," Madanach chuckled. "I'd like to put my money on that."

"Which one?" Tullius asked. The Reach-King shrugged.

"Doesn't matter. Maybe both!"

"You're impossible!" the General snapped, rolling his eyes and shaking his head.

"I never thought I'd see this day!" Delphine murmured to Elisif, who nodded.

"So," the Dragonborn said to the two captains. "You want to tell me what that was about?"

The two men from Riverwood looked at the Dragonborn and then at each other. Wide grins split both their faces, and they turned back to Marcus. "No," they both said in unison, and turned to walk back to their respective camps. Tamsyn burst out laughing.

"I guess they told you," she giggled. He threw her a mock scowl as he headed up the hill. He really wasn't upset; after all, this had been the whole purpose of setting up guidelines in the first place.

Marcus hurried into the small village to look up Klimmek. The fisherman usually kept a watchful eye on the town, and Marcus had something important to ask him. He found him, as usual, down by the river.

"Hey, Klimmek!" he greeted his friend. "Did you see the Thalmor when they came down the mountain?"

"Sure did," Klimmek said. "They weren't too happy, either. That leader of theirs barked out some orders for food and didn't pay Wilhelm for it. Just took it. Threatened to throw his family into prison if they protested, too, and then they all left. We were all pretty glad to see them go."

Marcus' brow furrowed in anger, but it wasn't directed at Klimmek. "Which road did they take out of town?" he asked.

"The north road," the older man answered. "I saw them go myself."

"Thanks," Marcus replied, and went back to the Vilemyr to speak with Wilhelm. Tamsyn was already there.

"I'm sorry about the Thalmor," Marcus began, but Wilhelm brushed the apology aside.

"It's not your fault, Dragonborn," the innkeeper said. "In point of fact, I expected it from them. And no, I don't want your gold. Between you, the Imperials and the Stormcloaks, I can afford to lose a little on some food and drink. It will be a good winter for us this year."

"You're a good man, Wilhelm," Marcus smiled shaking the man's hand. He turned to the Arch-Mage and took her arm, leading her outside.

"Are you heading back to Winterhold now?" he asked, trying to keep his tone light.

She shook her head. "No," she replied. "I thought I'd come back to Whiterun with you. You've got a dragon to trap, remember?"

"Oh yeah," he slumped. "I wish I could say I forgot about that." The delight he felt at her company was overshadowed by the knowledge of what lay ahead.

"Don't be so glum," Tamsyn chided. "I think, even without some of the Shouts, you're better prepared than you think you are."

"I'm not even sure how I'm supposed to get one to come to me," he said. "And I thought you and Delphine were going to head to Riften?"

"Delphine is going on without me," Tamsyn explained. "I'll join her there later, but after you're done with what you need to do."

It was already past midday, but within hours, both the Imperials and the Stormcloaks had struck their camps and were on their way back to their home bases, leaving Ivarstead – by the end of the day – the quiet little village it had always been. For about half a heartbeat, Marcus considered tipping off Ulfric Stormcloak about the Thalmor somewhere along the north road, but realized almost at once that a handful of days had already passed, and the small contingent of Altmer were likely no longer in the area. If they were smart, that was; Ambassador Ramallion didn't strike him as the sort of person lacking intelligence.

For expedience's sake, it was decided that the Imperial 'platoon-not-battalion' and the Reachfolk would travel together, at least as far as Whiterun, where Jarl Balgruuf, Tamsyn and Marcus would part from them. Tullius would take his Imperials back to Solitude and Madanach would turn west towards the Reach. Horses were found for the Dragonborn and the Arch-Mage, and they rode together in silence side-by-side.

"So," Marcus asked Tamsyn, after they'd put Ivarstead behind them. "How am I supposed to trap a dragon?"

The sun had long since set, and it was a clear, bright night, illuminated by the moons and stars. Surprisingly, even after the long descent he didn't feel tired yet. He supposed it was the adrenaline rush of having plans set in motion. And if he did start to wear out, there were always stamina potions.

"The one you want to call is named Odahviing," Tamsyn said. "He's a huge red dragon, and the right hand—er, wing, I mean – of Alduin. He's the World Eater's most trusted lieutenant after Paarthurnax betrayed him."

"I don't feel it inside," Marcus said. He heard the words, but knew he couldn't Shout them.

"I'll write it down for you when we stop for the night," she promised. "I have a few other words for you that I found in my travels. I wrote them all down, since at the time I couldn't read dovahzul, and didn't know which of the markings would be the Word you needed. I hope it will work for you, even if it's not carved in stone."

Marcus chuckled. "It should. Matriarch Maiara sent me some words they'd found, and I was able to read them. So you're saying you can read the dragon language now? And speak it, too? I didn't understand one word in three that you spoke to Paarthurnax."

"I'm getting there," Tamsyn admitted. "It's not perfect yet, but speaking with him certainly helped with my pronunciation."

For a long time they traveled in companionable silence. Nothing hindered their return trip; indeed, it would have been suicide to try. They made fairly good time, passing by the silent tomb that was Helgen in the wee small hours of the morning. Riverwood was not far beyond, but they didn't stop, filing silently through the quiet town in the pre-dawn hours, and finally pulling into Whiterun just a few hours before noon.

Marcus, Tamsyn, and Jarl Balgruuf parted from the Reach King and General Tullius, and Tamsyn gave Jarl Elisif a warm hug, promising to remain in touch, then bade them farewell as they turned the horses back over to the General and walked up the causeway. The Jarl took his handful of soldiers up to Dragonsreach, pausing only to say, "I'll have my men check the trap, Dragonborn, and make sure it's in good working order. We'll be ready when you give the word."

"Thank you, Jarl," Marcus replied. "It will be soon, I promise you. We have other fish to fry."

"I can't wait for that, Dragonborn!" Balgruuf grinned and left.

Marcus led Tamsyn over to Warmaiden's. Blaise was nowhere in sight, so they went inside. They found him across the room, restocking a barrel full of arrows. His face was a mask of worry.

"Dad!" the boy cried happily when Marcus called him, and he ran over to give his father a hug. "I'm glad you're back, Dad!" he said. "Is everything alright?"

"It will be soon, son," Marcus smiled. "I'm heading home now. I'll see you later. I just wanted to let you know I was back."

Blaise hugged his father again and went back to work, but the worried frown that had been on his face was smoothed away and replaced with a blinding grin.

Back at Breezehome, only Lydia and Lucia were home. Alesan was already up at Jorrvaskr, and Sofie was at work at Arcadia's. While Lydia caught Marcus up on household affairs, Tamsyn put Lucia through her magical paces, then took her outside and showed her how to play hopscotch. When he was finished going over his messages and finances with his Housecarl, Marcus joined them outside and insisted on testing whether Lucia had been practicing her tae kwon do.

Apparently, she had, because she ended up taking his legs out from under him and sitting on his chest, ready to strike his throat. Surprised at first, he grinned, growled playfully and rolled her over to tickle her until she shrieked with delight.

"That's for beating your poor old papa!" he crowed. Then he scooped her up close and hugged her tight. "I've missed you, chica, and I'm so proud of you!"He set her on her feet again as Mila Valentia approached. "Go on and play now, sweetheart. The Arch-Mage and I have some things to talk about. If you see Alesan and Sofie, let them know I'm home, but don't interfere in their work, okay?"

"Alright, Papa!" Lucia smiled, hugging him. "I'm so glad you're home! And I'm glad you came back too, Miss Tamsyn!" She ran off to join her friend. "Mila! I learned a new game!" she crowed. "It's called 'hopscotch'. Come on, I'll show you!"

Once inside, Marcus gave Lydia the evening off, and she gratefully headed up to the Bannered Mare to enjoy an evening of entertainment with people closer to her own age.

Tamsyn wrote out Odahviing's name on a piece of parchment, and as he stared, he heard the chanting in his ears, and the glyphs began to glow. Deep in his mind, the meaning of the words took shape and form. "Od…ah…viing. Winged Snow Hunter."

"A gift for you, my son," said that quiet inner dragon in his mind. "The deeper understanding of the meaning of the Words."

Something unlocked, and Marcus realized he would not have to find more dragon souls to activate the Shout.

"Thanks, 'Dad'," he grinned to himself.

"You look happy," Tamsyn remarked, studying his face quizzically.

"Do I?" he smirked. "I guess I am, then." She pushed him lightly in the arm.

"Beast," she pouted. "Keep your secrets, then. Here, I found this Word in Silverdrift Lair, and this one in Frostmere Crypt."

"What were you doing in those places?" he asked, dismayed. He looked at the script and saw the glyphs ignite, and heard the chanting ringing in his ears. Haal and slen. He didn't know what they meant, and without dragon souls to unlock them they would be of no use in the immediate future, but at least he knew them now. "Do you know what these mean?"

"Maybe," she said primly. "But what would happen to man's quest for knowledge if I told you? As to what I was doing, that's my business. I can keep secrets, too, you know. The point is I found them for you. Can you unlock them?"

"Not right now," he admitted. "I've been using the souls as I get them now, and I'm running on empty at the moment."

"Probably for the best," Tamsyn nodded, "considering what happened before. When do you think you'll…you know."

Marcus turned away and stared out the window at the city of Whiterun. He could just see the gates from here, past Adrienne's forge, and part of the guardhouse where the Whiterun guard stayed while they rotated on their shifts. People passed by, going about their businesses, coming into and out of the city; most of them never knowing their hero of legend, the Dragonborn, lived in the modest house across from the Drunken Huntsman and next to Warmaiden's.

"It should be sooner, rather than later," Marcus said quietly. "If I think too long about it, I might lose my nerve." He turned back. "I don't know if I'm ready for this, Tamsyn," he said. "I'm just an ordinary guy from Des Moines, Iowa; an IT technician who never read fantasy or played a video game in his life."

"You're more than that, Marcus," Tamsyn said softly, coming up and slipping her arms about his waist. "You've learned to fight, to survive, and to thrive in this world into which you've been thrown. Look at you," she exclaimed, stepping back and looking up at him. "Would you have thought, all those months ago as we were escaping Helgen, that you would have made it this far? That you would have a home again? A family? A life like this? You've learned to wear armor, fight with weapons, cast spells, and focus your vital essence into a Shout that can turn you ethereal, make you breathe fire, blow your enemy across a room. You're the Dragonborn, Marcus. You're the chosen of Akatosh. Don't ever forget that!"

"What if I fail?" he asked, his brow knit with worry. "What if I let all these people down?"

"That has always been a possibility, Marcus," Tamsyn said honestly. "But no one here would ever blame you or fault you if you did. The only thing they might criticize you for would be if you backed down and just waited for the inevitable to happen. If you shirked your destiny and let Alduin win. But you haven't done that so far. You've set things in motion that fall outside the game, things a lot of people would love to have had the opportunity to do. Whether you win or lose against Alduin isn't as important as the fact that you have tried to make a difference for the better. That's what really makes you a hero."

Not trusting himself to speak, Marcus gathered her close, content for the moment to simply hold her, taking comfort in her physical presence. They stood there for several moments before he released her.

"You'll be with me when I call him?" he asked simply.

Tamsyn nodded. "I think you'll need my firepower. Odahviing is a formidable opponent, but the key will be to lure him to the trap, not to kill him. We need him alive. Shall we go take a look at it?" she suggested.

Marcus nodded. "Yeah, let's do that. I want to see what I'm getting myself into."

They left Breezehome hand-in-hand, walking slowly up the street towards the market area. They stopped in at Arcadia's Cauldron so Marcus could see Sofie and give her a hug. Tamsyn bought several hard-to-find ingredients and some restorative potions. Then they were on their way up to the Wind District to stop at Jorrvaskr to see how Alesan was getting along. They found him out back polishing a shield. It was onerous work, but he didn't seem to mind.

"It's Mister Vignar's shield," the boy explained. "He asked me if I could clean it up for him, since his elbow gets stiff sometimes. Hi, Miss Tamsyn!" he added brightly.

"Do a good job, then, son," Marcus smiled, his face betraying nothing of the worry he felt about the future. "I'll see you at home later."

From Jorrvaskr they ascended the steps to Dragonsreach and sought out Jarl Balgruuf, finding him already out on the grand, covered porch above and behind his Great Hall.

"I've had my men testing it since we got back, Dragonborn," Balgruuf assured him. "It works like a charm. We'll be ready when you are." He beamed with pride, eager to participate in such an honorable, historical event.

"Tomorrow then, my Jarl," Marcus said, before his courage took flight. "Let it be tomorrow at midday."

"Just say the word, Marcus," Balgruuf said kindly, clapping him on the shoulder. "We'll have a feast tonight."

"Save the feast for my return, Balgruuf," Marcus smiled. "It will really give us something to celebrate."

"Aye, that it will," the older man replied, taking comfort in the belief that the Dragonborn would be victorious.

Marcus spent a good half hour examining the trap and its surrounds, judging distances from the open portion of the balcony to the interior reaches where the trap would actually fall, and pacing off the interior dimensions of the porch. He had no idea how big Odahviing was, but if he was anywhere close to the size of Alduin, it would be a snug fit.

The Dragonborn and the Arch-Mage returned to Breezehome, then, and while Tamsyn began preparing an evening meal, Marcus gathered together his smithing supplies and tools. A knock at the door made him pause, and he crossed the room to open it. A courier stood there.

"I have a delivery for…Marcus Dragonborn," the young man gulped, as he realized exactly who it was who stood before him.

"That'd be me," Marcus drawled. "Another letter from a friend?"

"No," the courier replied, leaning down and picking up a large, bulky package. It was almost as large as he was. "I was told to deliver this into your hands only. It's from someone named Balimund of the Scorched Hammer in Riften."

"My armor!" Marcus cried in delight, taking the bundle. "I'd almost forgotten about it!" He set the package just inside the door and dug into his belt pouch, pulling out a large handful of coins. "Here," he told the courier, shoving them into his hands. "You deserve this. That had to be heavy!"

"Thank you," the young man said, bemused, to a closed door.

"Tamsyn!" Marcus called. "It's here! My armor is here!" He began tearing at the cloth and leather wrappings excitedly as he spoke, and Tamsyn looked up fondly from the vegetables she was cutting up. He looked like a kid at Christmas. Wiping her hands on her apron, she came over just as he pulled the armor free of the covering. There were gauntlets, boots and a helmet as well. Everything had been carefully crafted from the bones and scales Marcus had given the old smith months ago. A note fell on the floor as he lifted the armor up and held it against himself. Tamsyn picked it up and wordlessly handed it to him.

"Hi Marcus," Balimund began. "I bet you thought I'd forgotten all about this. Well, I have to say, this was probably my finest piece of work. I know I told you it would probably be made of the scales, but I managed to use the bones after all. Once I figured out the technique, it was almost like the thing put itself together. A lot of people passing my forge have taken notice, and I'm busier than I ever was. If you have any more dragon bones and scales, I'd be happy to buy them from you. I've got a lot of orders to fill! Oh, by the way, the sword is a gift from me. My way of saying thanks for the business! – Balimund."

"Sword?" Marcus mused. He pulled a long, thin, carefully wrapped item from the bottom of the package and unwound the cloth. It was three and a half feet long, with a hand-and-a-half hilt, and the edge had a slight wave to it as it followed the contours of the dragonbone from which it was made. Despite its length it felt lighter than he expected, and Marcus couldn't wait to take it outside and test how it moved in his hand.

"Go on," Tamsyn murmured encouragingly. "You know you want to."

Marcus gave her a quick kiss of thanks and disappeared upstairs, to return a half hour later dressed from head to toe in dragon plate armor.

Tamsyn gulped. "You look amazing!" she breathed, helping him fasten the last two straps across his shoulders he was having trouble with.

He took off the helmet and grinned at her. "I really feel like a Dragonborn now," he commented. "I'd better go put myself through some paces, to get used to this."

"I think you should," Tamsyn said. "I'll have supper ready when you get back."

Marcus spent the rest of the afternoon up at Dragonsreach, sparring with the quintains and any of the guards who were willing. Once he became accustomed to the added weight, it became easier to move in the new armor, and the dragonbone sword – which was still considered one-handed – cut through a firmly-packed bale of straw as easily as cutting through paper. His dual-weapon style of fighting shifted to include the dragonbone blade in his left hand and Dragonbane in his right. He spent time honing the Akaviri blade the way Gorza had shown him, and was pleased to see it was actually making a difference. I must have gotten good enough to work with enchanted weapons now, he thought with some pride. He bought some lesser soul gems from Farengar to recharge the Akaviri blade.

Finally, satisfied he was as prepared as he would ever be, Marcus returned to Breezehome to show off his new gear to the children. Blaise was especially impressed. "I know what my goal will be!" he exclaimed. "Do you think Mr. Balimund would mind if I wrote to him?"

"Not at all, son," Marcus smiled. "I think he would like that. Come on upstairs and help me out of this, and you can see how it all fits together. Then we can eat. I've worked up an appetite."

For supper Tamsyn had made a beef roast with potatoes, leeks and carrots. Fresh bread from Carlotta's stand and a pitcher of milk from the Grey-Mane's farm rounded out the meal. "And I made an apple brown betty for dessert," she added. "It was easy enough to do in the cookpot. You don't have an oven here."

Marcus made a mental note to change that, and realized he was already thinking about a future beyond Alduin. Hold on to that feeling, he told himself. Half of a victory is going into it believing you've already won.

After supper had been cleared away, Marcus sat down with his family and told the children of his intentions the following day. To his surprise, none of them tried to talk him out of it.

"You're gonna win, Pa!" Alesan declared. "I've seen you kill a dragon. That old Alduin doesn't stand a chance!"

Blaise was more reserved, but equally as supportive. "You've got the best weapons and armor I've ever seen, Dad," he said. "I mean, it's made from dragon bones! I'm sure it will protect you from dragon fire. It will, Miss Tamsyn, won't it?"

Tamsyn gave a short nod. "Perhaps some slight advantage, Blaise. But I think I'd like to take it up the hill this evening, along with the sword, and lay a few more enchantments on it, if your father would like."

"His father would like that very much," Marcus grinned. "At this point I'll take any advantage I can get."

"I've made you some more potions, too, Papa," Sofie offered. "I know they aren't very strong yet—"

"I'll take them anyway, sweetheart," he promised her. "It might make the difference. You never know."

"How long will you be gone, Papa?" Lucia asked, from her position curled up in his lap.

There was a moment of silence.

"I don't know, chica," Marcus told her honestly. "I don't know how far away Alduin has gone. It might take me several days just to get there."

"But you'll come right back as soon as you're done, right?" she asked, gazing up at him adoringly. There was no question in her young mind that her Papa would come back. He always had before.

"As soon as I'm done," he promised her, giving her a reassuring squeeze. He glanced over at Tamsyn, but her face was impassive as she stared into the fire. He wondered what she saw there, if anything.

For the rest of the evening, Marcus encouraged the children to talk about what they had been doing while he'd been up at High Hrothgar. Lydia returned shortly before the children's bedtime, and Marcus gathered up his equipment and made his way 'up the hill' with Tamsyn, for her to work her magic on them. Every piece received a double-enchantment: the cuirass was bolstered with magic that would renew and replenish his strength and health; the boots gave him the ability to move quietly and carry more weight. His gauntlets would make lock-picking easier, as well as enhance his fighting style, and the helmet gave him a boost to archery and magicka reserves, if he needed it.

As for the dragonbone sword, Marcus asked for Tamsyn to enchant it with a health drain.

"I'll put a Soul Trap on it, too," she told him quietly. "Carry some empty gems with you. Each kill will fill a gem, and you'll have a supply with which to recharge your weapons." Marcus agreed, seeing the logic behind this.

"I guess that's it, then," he said when she was finished, and had returned his blade to him. "I'm as ready as I'll ever be." He hesitated. "Will you stay with me tonight? I don't mean for sex; I just…I just want you near tonight."

Tamsyn looked at him for a long moment, but whatever her thoughts might have been, her expression was unreadable. "I'll stay with you tonight," she said finally. "And I'll stay with the children, for as long as I can, until—"

She didn't finish. She didn't need to. Marcus knew what she meant. She would stay until he came back – or didn't. And in the latter event, she would stay as long as she could before she would need to return to the College.

They returned to Breezehome, and together climbed the stairs to his room. Marcus looked in on the children once more. They were all fast asleep. Bleakly, he wondered – not for the first time – if he had done the right thing in taking them all in. Everyone seemed to think so, but he wasn't so sure. What if he failed them? What if, after all his preparations, he simply wasn't strong enough to defeat Alduin alone?

"Tamsyn," he said as he closed his bedroom door behind them. "I want you to be completely honest with me. Will I succeed tomorrow?"

The Breton girl sat down on a chair next to a small table. "You mean in summoning Odahviing?" she asked. "I can practically guarantee you he'll show up when you call his name. He won't be able to resist the opportunity to test his thu'um against yours. Dragons are rather vain, after all."

"I didn't mean that," Marcus said, setting the armor and weapons down on a nearby chest and crossing the room back to her. He sat down in the other chair opposite her. "I mean, will I succeed in defeating Alduin?"

Tamsyn sighed. "Honestly, Marcus, I don't know." He gave her a stern look. "I don't!" she protested. "Your future has always been hidden from me. I think it's a sort of safeguard against my knowing too much."

"How's that again?"

She gave an exasperated snort. "I mean, I think something – or someone – has been interfering with my ability to determine if you'll be successful or not, to keep me from relaying that information to you. Think about it, Marcus: everything you have done so far has been pretty much according to the game, but you have gone off the beaten path a few times. When you were possessed by the souls of those ancient dragons? That never happened in the game. Madanach showing up for the peace council? Didn't happen. And the Thalmor Ambassador, Elenwen, turning up dead?" She gave a mirthless snort. "If you only knew how many times I wanted to do that!"

He started to speak, but she waved him to be quiet. "Let me finish. What I'm getting at, Marcus, is that while you have generally followed the main quest of the game, and done a few side quests as well, you've also done some things your own way. I can't tell you with one-hundred-percent certainty that you'll destroy Alduin, because I simply don't know. In the game, if my character died, it would reset to my last saving place. That isn't going to happen here. If you die, it's quite literally 'game over' for all of us. And I don't say that to put pressure on you. I'm only saying that there really is only one outcome here. We just don't know what it will be. You will either succeed, or you won't."

"That really doesn't help very much."

"I'm sorry," she said with genuine sympathy. She rose and stepped over to him, putting her hands on his shoulders. "I think you just have to continue on as you've done, not knowing how it will come out, and just use everything you've learned so far to come through it. You're stronger than you think you are, and I don't mean just in bodily strength."

He nodded in agreement, knowing deep inside that what she said was true. He stood, then, so suddenly she staggered back, then squealed as he scooped her up and carried her over to the bed, laying her down gently on top of the sleeping furs. When this was over, he was getting a proper bed put in here, he thought obliquely.

"Let's not think about that anymore tonight," he suggested, lying down fully clothed on top of the furs next to her. "Tonight I just want to think about us, and about the future. I'm going to go into this as if it's already a done deal, and all I have to think about is what comes after."

Tamsyn gave him a winning smile. "That's the attitude to take!"

They talked long into the night, until the stress and fatigue of the past few days finally took its toll on their bodies and the pauses between their talks grew longer.

"Tamsyn," he murmured, before he drifted off.

"Mmm?" she mumbled.

"You once told me that 'Tamsyn' wasn't your real name," he said drowsily. "That it was the name of your character in the game."

"Mm-hmm."

"What's your real name?" he asked.

She was silent so long he thought she'd finally succumbed to sleep. Then finally, in a soft, amused voice, she replied, "Come back to me, and I'll tell you."

He was still smiling when sleep claimed him.

It was time. Balgruuf would be waiting. He knew it. He'd spent the better part of the morning with his children, before they left for their daily routines, leaving Marcus alone with Tamsyn, Lydia and Lucia.

"Can I come with you, Papa?" Lucia begged, even while Lydia shushed her.

"No, little one," he smiled sadly. "Not today. You'll need to stay here and keep an eye on Lydia. Make sure she doesn't get into any trouble while I'm gone."

Lucia tried to smile, but the corners of her mouth trembled. Without speaking, she flung herself into her papa's arms and squeezed him so tight around the neck that if it hadn't been for the collar of his armor, he was sure she would have choked him.

A tearful, wet kiss was planted on his cheek, and Lucia whispered, "I love you, Papa!" before running up the stairs to her room.

"I'll look after them, my Thane," Lydia promised.

"And I'll be here, too," Tamsyn added. "Here." She held out two pieces of jewelry to him. "These are for you."

"More bling?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow at her.

"The amulet will protect you from fire and frost," the Arch-Mage explained. "The ring will boost your armor protection. They're as strong as I can make them."

"Stronger than the stuff you gave us before Labyrinthian?" he asked indulgently.

"Much stronger," she replied smugly. "I am the Arch-Mage, after all."

He chuckled. "I guess I'll have to leave the Talos amulet here, then," he said regretfully.

"No, take it with you," Tamsyn said. "You can swap out if you need to. I'd suggest holding it in reserve for when you finally confront Alduin."

"I wish you would come with me," he said suddenly. Lydia tactfully withdrew.

"I'll help you capture Odahviing," Tamsyn promised. "But I can't go with you to Skuldafn Temple. Odahviing is a dragon, after all, not a 747. He won't agree to carry me."

"Doesn't mean I'm not going to ask," Marcus scowled. "I beat Alduin once. You said we have to trap Odahviing, which means I have to beat him. I can order him to carry you as well."

But Tamsyn shook her head. "That might be a bad tactic, especially if you want to earn his trust and keep it afterward. You of all people should know dragons are a prideful lot. I can't stop you from asking him about it, but if he says no, we have to respect his wishes and accept his answer as final."

Marcus nodded. Damn her for being so sensible all the time!

"Have you got everything you'll need?" Tamsyn asked him now.

"I think so," he answered. His pack was already full to bursting with potions, soul gems and food. He had allowed himself a week's worth of dried meats and fruits, along with several leather botas filled with water. If it took longer than that—

He wouldn't think about that now.

"Let's go," he said shortly, not trusting himself to speak any more. He opened the door and held it for her, letting her precede him out into the street. In the doorway he paused and looked back at the now-familiar, comfortable scene of the inside of his home. Lydia came around a corner and stood watching him.

"Gods go with you, Thane," she said quietly, crossing her fist across her chest and bowing from the waist.

He nodded, unable to put his gratitude to her in words, and left, closing the door behind him. At the front of the forge, Adrienne, Ulfberth and Blaise stood silently watching him. Marcus saw his son's throat work, but the boy raised his hand in salute and put on a brave smile. Drawing a deep breath and squaring his shoulders, he headed up the street. From every doorway along the way, people came out to watch him go.

Elrindir and Jenassa emerged from the Drunken Huntsman; Belethor and Sigurd stepped out of the general store, and a little further on, Arcadia and Sofie appeared in the doorway of the apothecary shop. Hulda, Mikael and Saadia came out of the Bannered Mare, and Carlotta and Mila stood by the produce stall. Anoriath went over to Fralia Gray-Mane and put an arm around her to comfort her. She was weeping openly.

Further up the hill, near the Gildergreen, the Companions of Jorrvaskr came out onto the steps of their mead hall, Alesan and Lars among them. The boys each put a fist to their chests in an echo of Lydia's salute. Marcus veered over to them and paused only long enough to return it before resuming his trek, touching the Shrine of Talos along the way. Heimskr had been silenced by the solemnity of the occasion. Even he seemed to realize that now was not the time to proselytize. Danica Pure-Spring was joined by Andurs, who both quietly supplicated Kynareth and Arkay respectively to bless the Dragonborn's endeavors.

The more divine help I can get, the better, Marcus thought.

Conspicuously absent were Ahlam and her irritating, unctuous fop of a husband, Nazeem. For that small favor, Marcus was grateful. He had nothing against the long-suffering Ahlam – the woman was a competent healer – but he would rather not listen to her husband's constant, tiresome whine, "Do you get to the Cloud District often? Oh, what am I saying? Of course you don't." In the back of his mind was the knowledge that as many times as he'd been to Dragonsreach, he had never once seen Nazeem there. He saw Amren standing near the priests, and gave a nod to his friend. Near the stairs which led up to the Jarl's palace, the entire Battle-Born clan waited.

"Dragonborn," Idolaf said quietly, holding out his hand. "Best of luck. Our courage and our hearts are with you."

"Thank you, Idolaf," Marcus said sincerely. "That means a lot to me." He clasped wrists with the older man and accepted the gift of a healing potion from his mother, Bergritte. Then it was time to mount the stairs. He wondered if they expected him to say a few words. He hoped not. He had none left to say. Anything he might have said at this point would have seemed like grandstanding. He took a deep breath and began to climb, with the Arch-Mage of Winterhold following in his wake.

It was quiet inside Dragonsreach. The usual contingent of guards were on duty, naturally, but the ever-present hustle and bustle of a fully staffed castle seemed eerily subdued, as if everyone was going about their business on tiptoe and speaking in hushed whispers. Refusing to let this unnerve him, Marcus led the way to the stairs just beyond the Jarl's empty throne.

They crossed the upper hall and opened the doors to the balcony, where lay the trap which had once imprisoned a dragon, and with a lot of luck, would soon do so again. Paarthurnax had told him about the first dragon, of course, the one for whom the hall had been named.

"I used to visit him from time to time. Half-crazed with loneliness, he was. He did not even remember his own name."

Marcus knew the name. Numinex. The skull of the ancient dragon leered over the hall now, and for some strange, unknown reason, this always made Marcus angry every time he saw it.

But he couldn't think about that now. It wasn't a dead dragon he needed to think about, but a live one. One who just might come when called. The comical image of him calling the dragon like a puppy flitted through his mind, and he promptly squashed it. Focus, Marcus, he told himself firmly.

At the far end of the balcony, Jarl Balgruuf waited with his Housecarl and his Captain of the guard, Commander Caius. Several armored men and women waited there as well. Marcus noted the Court Mage, Farengar, was also in attendance.

Of course, Marcus thought to himself. He's not going to pass up this chance to talk to a real, live dragon. And I did promise him I'd try to arrange it for him. I like to keep my promises.

"Ah! There you are, Dragonborn!" Balgruuf exclaimed. "Are you ready to launch this mad, dragon-trapping scheme of yours? My men are ready when you are. Just say the word."

"I'm ready, Jarl," Marcus said. As ready as I'll ever be, I guess. Just how does one prepare to kill a god?

He stepped out into the bright sunshine of a crisp, cold day. It was always cold here. Back home, it would be considered the beginning of August, and yet it felt like October. If he lived through this, it was tempting to retire someplace warmer. He wondered what passed for Arizona here. He'd always liked it there. It was too bad his job wouldn't let him stay.

You're procrastinating, he chided himself. They're waiting. Just do it. Call the dragon.

He closed his eyes and concentrated, finding that place within himself from which it seemed the thu'um originated. Tamsyn had called it his 'vital essence'. Whatever it was, he felt it overflowing now with power. I can do this.

"OD-AH-VIING!"

The Shout reverberated up and down the passageway leading to the balcony. It crashed off the walls of Dragonsreach and rolled like thunder across the town of Whiterun, echoing against the surrounding hills and mountains. Marcus felt quite certain the Greybeards up at High Hrothgar had heard his Shout. Hell, they probably heard it in Solitude!

For a long, apprehensive moment, nothing happened, and Marcus began to believe he had failed. The dragon wasn't coming.

"Is that it, Dragonborn?" Jarl Balgruuf grumbled. "All these preparations, and no dragon?" Everyone around him stirred restlessly and muttered.

"Wait!" Tamsyn said, her head tilted as if listening. "Do you hear that?" She rushed to the edge of the parapet and leaned out so far Marcus was ready to leap forward to pull her back.

Suddenly they all heard it. A faint roaring sound that grew and magnified the closer it came.

"Here he comes!" Irileth called, pointing. "Guards, get ready with those arrows! Remember we don't want to kill him!"

"Archers, find your marks," Commander Caius shouted. "Non-vital areas only. Drink those potions now!"

Every guard on the balcony pulled out a small red bottle and downed it, tossing the empties to one side, then taking aim at the small red dot which was rapidly becoming larger and larger.

"Dovahkiin!" came a harsh, guttural boom. "Hi lost faan, ahrk Zu'u lost bo. Nu mu fent koraav wodro zul los muliik!"

"What did he say?" Marcus threw at Tamsyn, who was bringing frost and lightning into her hands.

"I didn't quite catch it all," she called back. "Something about you called and he came, and seeing whose shout or voice is better."

"That's what I like to hear," he grinned. "JOOR ZAH FRUL!" he shot at the great red dragon.

It was only a glancing blow as the firedrake swept past, but it was enough. Staggering in midair, Odahviing felt the crippling grip of mortality in every fiber of his being. Howling in rage, he exerted himself to keep from plummeting to the ground, settling instead on the edge of the balcony. Peering into the gloom, he saw the multitude of joore arrayed against him and allowed himself a smug, cruel smile. Too easy, he thought.

"YOL TOOR SHUL!"

The firestorm he belched forth filled the balcony area, and the anguished cries were music to his ears. Several of the archers suddenly found themselves without weapons, as the inferno reduced their bows and arrows to nothing more than charred tindertwigs. Nearly all of them removed their helmets at once, gasping for fresh air and relief from the suddenly red-hot confines of their metal headgear.

A blast of icy cold hit him in the side, chilling him to the bone. As a firedrake, he was very susceptible to frost attacks, though the cold mountain air he preferred to fly in bothered him not at all. Swinging his head around, he searched for and found the source of his pain, and winced again as a double-blast of ice and lightning shot forth from her hands.

"Duraal sosin!" he growled. Cursed witch.

Tamsyn was unfazed. "Duraal lahzey, waan hi dreh ni hah." Cursed wizard, if you don't mind.

Advancing to snap at her, Odahviing suddenly stopped, and if a dragon's face could register surprise, his certainly would have done so.

"You speak the language of the dov?" he queried. "It matters not. Your fate will be the same as theirs." He lunged forward to bury his teeth in her soft flesh…and ran up against her shield spell. The screeching sound his teeth made against it set everyone else's on edge. Marcus winced. It was not unlike the sound of fingernails on a chalkboard.

"You'll have to do better than that, O Winged Snow Hunter," Tamsyn gloated, though the pressure of the dragon's advance bore her backwards.

Marcus felt his thu'um finally recharged and silently thanked Tamsyn for the time she'd bought him.

"FO KRAH!" he threw at Odahviing, and was pleased to see the great head swivel back toward him just in time to get a facefull of frost.

"You!" the great red dragon snarled, the crystals of ice melting almost upon impact. "Hi los Dovahkiin!"

That much of the dragon language, Marcus knew, and he gave the dovah a mocking bow. "If you want me, you're going to have to come and get me," he taunted, moving further back into the recesses of the training grounds.

"Nid, Dovahkiin. Nii los hi wo fen lost wah horvutah zey!"

In confusion, Marcus turned to Tamsyn, but suddenly realized he'd made a tactical error. The Dragonrend Shout had worn off, and Odahviing had pulled himself back and launched himself into the air. The burn at the back of his throat told Marcus it was too soon to Shout again.

"Damn it!" he swore out loud. He had hoped to make this quick. Now he really needed to do some damage, to make Odahviing careless enough to want to pursue him into the back of the balcony. It would be dangerous, but he had no choice.

Racing back to the edge of the balcony, Marcus winced as a column of fire was laid down across the outer wall. The ring Tamsyn had made him had taken most of the damage, but it still hurt, and he didn't blame some of the guards for running for cover. Tamsyn hurried over to two who had fallen by the wall, moaning in pain. Healing spells flared, and she motioned for two other soldiers to haul the wounded back to safety.

"We need to lure him inside, Marcus," Tamsyn urged.

"I'm trying, Tamsyn!" he gritted out. "In case you haven't noticed, he's flying, and I'm not."

"He's coming around again," Tamsyn called. "Can you Shout yet?"

His throat still felt raw. "No!" he growled. "But I can shoot a bow!" He pulled the elven bow off his back and nocked an ebony arrow. He'd found a small stash of them somewhere, during the time he'd been possessed, and Cicero had urged him to keep them for when he had to fight Alduin. He didn't think he'd miss one or two now.

Marcus waited until Odahviing hovered over them, gloating. The dragon said something in dovahzul again, but Marcus didn't wait to find out what it was. Just keep monologuing, he thought, and released his arrow, quickly following through with a second.

Again, Odahviing staggered in mid-flight, but clawed his way back into the air. Whatever Shout he'd been about to deliver, he'd choked on as the arrows hit and sank deep into his scaly hide.

"That's got him!" Jarl Balgruuf crowed. His own arrows were of Dwarven make, and were effective only on the softer underside of the dragon. It was clear, however, that they weren't doing nearly enough damage to tempt the dragon into chasing down his nemesis.

"Concentrate your attacks on his underside," Balgruuf ordered. "Hold steady, men!"

Marcus felt the rawness in his throat ease, and he knew he could Shout again. Thank goodness the Dragonrend thu'um had a quick cool-down period. Wearing the Talos amulet helped as well, but the more effective, damaging Shouts took far too long to recover from to risk using again. It was time to switch to melee weapons and call the dragon to him.

"He's coming back!" Farengar cried, ice wisping streams of frost from his hands. As Odahviing swept over them once more, the court mage loosed his attack, then nimbly stepped out of the way of the gout of flame that streamed forth. On the other side of the balcony, Tamsyn also let loose with a barrage of Ice Spikes, and several archers who still had their bows launched a flight of arrows which did little damage.

Marcus ripped out Dragonrend again, and again, Odahviing felt the cruel talons of mortality grip him, forcing him to land. This time, however, he thundered down on the floor of the balcony and glared around, eyes seeking out the Dragonborn. He found him, just as soon as a stinging blow hit his foreleg, burning like fire down the limb.

Roaring in fury, he swept his left wing forward to knock the Dovahkiin flat on his back, but the joor leaped backward and retreated, after stabbing with the blade again. Odahviing's eyes narrowed in hate. Was that armor made of…dovah bones? And that other blade that sank so deeply into his chest making it hard for him to breathe – was that also made of the bones of his zeymah?

"Hi aal ahtiid qah do dii zeymah, Dovahkiin," he taunted. "Nuz hi fen neh kos dovah."

Frowning, Marcus called out to Tamsyn, "What did he say?"

"Uh…I think it was an insult," she replied, dodging a wing buffet on her side of the red dragon.

"Thanks," he shot back wryly. "I think I figured that out for myself."

"Something about wearing the bones of his brothers, but you'll never be a dragon," she called out, streaming a line of frost down the offending wing.

"Is that right?" Marcus was actually amused. He must really have gotten to the drake by wearing the armor. "I've got a news flash for you, Snowy," he grinned. "When I'm done here I'm going to mount your head on my wall!"

Screaming in outrage, Odahviing moved forward to snap at Marcus, who moved back and stumbled, nearly falling.

"Dragonborn!" Balgruuf called out in alarm. Gasps from several guards rang through the rafters, and Odahviing's eyes narrowed in cruel amusement. It would give him great pleasure indeed to rend this meyus joor limb from limb. He advanced again to press his attack. The Dovahkiin seemed unable to get to his feet. No doubt the weight of his offensive armor pinned him down. He scrambled backwards, and several people rushed forward to try to help.

"No, stay back!" Tamsyn warned. "The dragon's too powerful! He'll kill you!" There was fear in her voice that was oddly out of place with the calculating look in her eyes, though none questioned the wisdom of her words. The guards held back, helplessly watching the dragon advance on the prostrate Dragonborn.

Balgruuf glanced over to the Arch-Mage, but part of the dragon's tail blocked his view of her. As the beast bore down on the Dragonborn, however, he finally saw her and caught her eye, motioning that they should move in to help. Surprisingly, she motioned back for him to hold his ground. Blowing out an impatient breath of frustration, and wondering just what was going through her mind, the Jarl of Whiterun stayed where he was, anxiously waiting to see if there was anything he could do to help, and wondering if he'd be able to get there in time.

Now Marcus had literally crawled backwards down half the length of the inner training grounds, the confines of the area making it difficult for the dragon to move anywhere except straight ahead or straight back. And the beast had no intention of moving backwards; not with his prize so tantalizingly close.

"Nu hi los dii," Odahviing gloated. "Now you are mine, Dovahkiin!"

"We've got a saying back where I come from," Marcus gritted out, still retreating. "'Don't count your chickens before they're hatched!' NOW!" he cried to the man on the second level.

The guard released the catch on the trap, and the yoke clattered down as Marcus did a kip up and tumbled backward out of the way of Odahviing's snapping jaws – jaws that, along with the head and most of the neck, were suddenly rendered immobile by the trap which encircled him and held him in place.

In vain, Odahviing raged and struggled. "Nid!" he roared, blowing out his last fire breath, which was really only a few sparks. The yoke was so tight it did not allow for the expansion and flexing needed for a full-blown Shout. At length he settled down, accepting his fate. The painful truth filled him – he had brought this upon himself, through his arrogance and pride, wanting to pit himself against the one they called 'Dragonborn'.

"Horvutah med kodaav," he rumbled in disgust at himself. "Caught like a bear in a trap." His eyes sought out and found Marcus, who was now cautiously approaching him from out of the dim shadows. "Zok frini grind ko grah drun viiki, Dovahkiin," he said quietly.

When Marcus made no response, he continued. "Ah, I forget. You do not have the dovah speech."

"Not yet," Marcus inclined his head, "but it's something I intend to remedy soon. Looks like you've got a slight problem here."

A growl deep in the dragon's throat made several of the guards edge away. It was never wise to taunt a dragon…even a captive one.

"My…eagerness to meet you in battle was my…undoing, Dovahkiin," Odahviing admitted. Truth was truth, after all. "I salute your, hmm, low cunning in devising such a grahmindol…stratagem."

Marcus was certain this was meant to be an insult, but he ignored it. Odahviing was speaking again.

"Zu'u bonaar. You went to a great deal of trouble to put me in this…humiliating position. Hind siiv Alduin, hmmm? No doubt you want to know where to find Alduin?"

Marcus wasn't surprised that Odahviing would play that card. It was really the only bargaining chip he had. That he had given the suggestion so quickly surprised him. Tamsyn came up to stand beside him.

"Ah," Odahviing crooned. "The duraal lahzey, if I am not mistaken," he observed. "Your spells are very…suleykaar…powerful. A fitting opponent indeed. I salute you."

Tamsyn bowed respectfully. "You are a worthy opponent, as well, Odahviing," she replied. "Will you tell us where Alduin is hiding?"

"Rinik vazah," the dragon reflected. "An apt phrase." He seemed almost amused. "Alduin bovul. One reason I came to your call was to test your Thu'um myself."

"Why?" Marcus asked, surprised.

Odahviing shifted uncomfortably, and the chains which held the yoke in place rattled alarmingly.

"Many of us have begun to question Alduin's lordship, whether his Thu'um was truly the strongest. Among ourselves, of course. Mu ni meyye. We are not fools. None were yet ready to openly defy him."

"You were telling us where Alduin's gone?" Tamsyn prompted gently.

"Unslaad krosis," the dragon replied. "Innumerable pardons. I digress." He didn't sound the slightest bit sorry, Marcus felt. "He has travelled to Sovngarde to regain his strength, devouring the sillesejour…the souls of the mortal dead. A privilege he jealously guards."

A gasp of shock reverberated around the balcony and training grounds. Though it was common knowledge by now that the Dragonborn had driven off Alduin, few knew the truth of where he'd gone, or what he was doing. The Jarls and General Tullius felt such knowledge would only cause widespread panic if known.

"How can I get to him, short of dying, that is?" Marcus demanded. Odahviing certainly took a long time getting to the point!

The dragon seemed amused. "His door to Sovngarde is at Skuldafn, one of his ancient fanes high in the eastern mountains. Mindoraan, pah ok middovahhe lahvraan til." Even Tamsyn looked confused at the dragonspeech. Odahviing let out a snort that could only be described as exasperated. "I surely do not need to warn you that all his remaining strength is marshalled there."

"Give me a minute," Marcus said to the dragon. "Oh, Arch-Mage? A moment of your time, if you would?"

He pulled Tamsyn aside into a private corner where they would not be overheard.

"Is he on the level?" he asked.

"So far," Tamsyn nodded. "But he's holding out on you. Don't release him yet."

"What else can he tell me?" Marcus asked. "Is this the part where I get him to admit I need him to fly me there?"

"Exactly," Tamsyn said. "If you let him go now, he'll think he's put one over on you, and you won't get your ride. You have to prove you're smarter than the average dragon."

Marcus almost chuckled at that. "I think I can manage that," he assured her.

Odahviing watched them return with a calculating gleam in his eye. "Zu'u lost ofan hin laan," he said. "Now that I have answered your question, you will allow me to go free?"

"Maybe," Marcus shrugged. "If you promised to serve me, I'd consider it."

"Aam?" the dragon blinked, offended. "Serve you? No. Ni tiid," he said scornfully. "If and when you defeat Alduin, I will consider."

"Suit yourself," Marcus said in an off-hand manner. "I'll make sure the Jarl takes good care of you while I'm gone. Do you prefer beef or venison? I need to let him know so he can lay in a supply." He turned to leave and Odahviing hastily cleared his throat.

"Dovahkiin!" There was almost a note of panic in the red dragon's voice. "Krosis…there is one detail about Skuldafn I neglected to mention…"

Marcus turned back, hiding a smile. "Yes?"

"Only this: you have the Thu'um of a dovah, but without the wings of one, you will never set foot in Skuldafn." There was a hint of smugness in the firedrake's tone as he continued, "Of course, I could fly you there. But not while imprisoned like this."

"I…see…" Marcus said slowly, as if considering the ramifications of this revelation. "So we seem to be at an impasse."

"Indeed," the right wing of Alduin agreed. "Orin brit ro. I cannot leave here until you defeat Alduin…which you cannot do without my help."

A very real concern gripped Marcus then. "How do I know I can trust you?" he asked. "What guarantee do I have that you're not just going to dump me off mid-flight from a thousand feet up?"

"Zu'u ni tahrodiis, Dovahkiin," Odahviing said archly. "It was you who lured me here and took me prisoner. Vobalaan grahmindol. I have done nothing to earn your distrust."

The truth of these words slammed into Marcus. He had been the Dragonborn long enough to know that while they were clever and deceptive, they valued truth and honor among themselves above all else. This was why Paarthurnax's defection from his brother had enraged Alduin so much.

"If we're being completely honest here, Odahviing," Marcus said in his own defense, "you did try to trick me into letting you go. You held out valuable information from me."

"Hin aar, orin nu," Odahviing replied. There was a mocking tone to his voice. "And yet, here I am, still your prisoner." He didn't sound the least bit sorry. To be fair, had their roles been reversed, Marcus would have tried every trick he knew to get free. In point of fact, he'd already done so.

"If I let you go," Marcus said slowly, now, thinking how best to phrase this, "will you promise to take me to Skuldafn Temple, and promise to stop helping Alduin?"

Odahviing considered this. "I will accept your terms, Dovahkiin. It is wise to recognize when you have only one choice. And you can trust me. Zu'u ni tahrodiis. Alduin has proven himself unworthy to rule. I go my own way now. Free me, and I will carry you to Skuldafn."

Marcus took a deep breath. This was it. There was no turning back now. He looked up to the guard still standing by the lever which controlled the trap.

"Release him," he called up.

"What?" the man goggled in disbelief. "Are you mad?"

"Dragonborn," Jarl Balgruuf began. "Are you sure that's wise? After all the trouble we went to put him here?"

Marcus turned to his Jarl, quite possibly the first real friend he'd had in Skyrim. "I'm sure, my Jarl," he said. "This is the only way I can reach Alduin. It has to be this way."

Balgruuf let out a long, slow sigh. "Very well, Marcus," he said. "I trust you." He turned toward his man on the upper level. "Do as he says," he ordered. "The Dragonborn knows what he's doing!" No one but Marcus heard the muttered, "I hope," the Jarl whispered under his breath.

On the other side of Odahviing a loud altercation was taking place as Tamsyn raked Farengar over the coals.

"You will not take samples, do you understand?" she raged, her entire small frame brimming with indignant outrage. She was practically in Farengar's face, poking him in the chest. "I am the Arch-Mage of Winterhold and your direct superior, and I say you will leave this dragon unharmed! You said you wanted to talk to him, not conduct experiments on him. How would you like it if someone kept you in a cage and periodically cut off bits of your hair, or pieces of your flesh, or tapped you for a pint of blood without your permission? Huh?"

Marcus stepped over quickly as the yoke began to lift.

"Is there a problem?" he asked dangerously.

"Uh, no, Dragonborn," Farengar stammered. "Just a simple misunderstanding. My mistake. Forgive me, Dragonborn…Arch-Mage…uh, dragon…"

Odahviing snapped at the court mage, who suddenly decided he must have left something cooking on the alembic back in his lab. He fled the balcony without another word.

"My apologies, Odahviing," Tamsyn said sincerely, inclining her head. "I had no idea he was going to do that to you."

Instead of being angry, the red dragon appeared amused. "You are not very large, for a joor," he rumbled, "but your su'um is strong." He turned himself around, surprisingly nimble for a dragon of his size, until he was pointed out the open end of the balcony. It was still early in the afternoon, Marcus realized. The whole ordeal had not taken much time at all. At the very least, Balgruuf would have to be pleased that the town below had not been scorched.

"Saraan uth," Odahviing called to him. "I await your command, as promised. Are you ready to see the world as only a dovah can?"

Marcus hesitated. He would never know if he didn't ask.

"Odahviing," he began, "will you carry the Arch-Mage, here, too? Will you take us both to Skuldafn?"

But the great red dragon shook his head out as a dog does when shaking water off itself. "Nid, Dovahkiin," he growled. "My promise was to you alone. As much as I respect the prok lahzey, she does not possess dovah sos…the blood of a dovah. I will not be a beast of burden to lesser joore."

So that was it. Marcus thought he might order the dragon to obey, but that might lead to another pitched fight, and this time the dragon would not allow himself to be trapped so easily. Besides, Odahviing had not promised to obey him unless and until he defeated Alduin. And even then he only said he'd consider it, he thought sourly.

"Fine, then," he said. "Give me a minute to say goodbye."

He walked back to Tamsyn, holding out his hands helplessly. "I'm sorry, Tamsyn. I tried."

"I know," she smiled reassuringly. "I kind of figured he wouldn't go for it. But thank you for making the effort."

There was a moment of silence between them, each wrapped up in their own thoughts.

"I guess this is it, then," he said lamely.

"I guess so," she said. She reached back behind her and pulled the Sanguine Rose off her back. "Take this with you," she insisted. "It might help."

"Tamsyn," he protested, "I don't know how to use those things. I barely know how to use magic."

"There's nothing to know," she chided him. "Just point and click, basically. Point it at your enemy and think to yourself, 'Go!' Let the staff do the rest. You've already seen it in action. Take it. I insist."

She closed his hand around the smooth wood of the staff, and he was surprised by the slight tingling sensation he felt from it. The scent of the red mountain flower perfume she wore wafted past him, and he pulled her close, kissing her with a desperate passion that nearly undid his resolve.

"Wait for me," he whispered.

"Come back to me," she countered. He quirked a grin.

"You've always got to get the last word in, don't you?"

Her eyes danced. "Yep."

Schooling his features, Marcus turned back to Odahviing who was waiting not-so-patiently. If a dragon could have drummed his front claws, Odahviing would be doing it now. But the firedrake said nothing as Marcus climbed aboard, finding a comfortable spot between two neck spines that allowed him to brace his feet against the dragon's shoulders.

"I'm ready, Odahviing," he said shortly. "Take me to Skuldafn Temple."

Dust and debris whirled into the air as the great leathery wings lifted the dragon and the Dragonborn into the skies above Whiterun.

"Zok brit uth, Dovahkiin!" the great red dragon called. "I warn you, once you've flown the skies of Keizaal, your envy of the dov will only increase!"

The two figures faded into the distance, while a small crowd gathered at the edge of the scorched balcony to watch them go. Balgruuf stepped over to the Arch-Mage, who gave no indication she had heard him approach. He lifted a hand as if to place it on her shoulder in comfort, but stopped. What comfort could he give her? The man he knew she loved had just flown away from her on the back of a great red dragon, ultimately to face down an even greater black one, and no one knew if he would succeed. Well, perhaps the Arch-Mage knew. She had the gift of foresight, after all.

"How long do you think it will take?" Balgruuf asked, his curiosity running unchecked.

"I don't know," Tamsyn replied, surprising him. She must have sensed that, for she turned to him and gave a sad smile. "Contrary to popular belief, my Jarl, I don't know everything. I have a pretty good idea for most things, but not…this. Marcus' destiny has never been hidden from me. I've always known what he has had to do. I've just never been able to predict if he will be successful or not."

"You can't make a guess?"

Tamsyn shrugged. "I could, I suppose, but it would have no relation to fact. Time might flow differently there than it does here. Marcus might end up spending only a few days in Sovngarde, and come back to find out years have passed here. We might…" She paused and took a deep breath. "We might all be dead by the time he returns."

"How will we know if he's succeeded, then?" Jarl Balgruuf demanded impatiently.

"We'll know," Tamsyn said, turning to leave, "if the dragons return."

[Author's Note: I wish to thank everyone who has stayed with me thus far. We are swiftly coming to the end of this tale, as Marcus heads towards the final confrontation with Alduin. But first he has to run the gauntlet through Skuldafn Temple, and that is no easy feat.]

Notes on Dovahzul (with help from .org):

Hi lost faan, ahrk Zu'u lost bo. Nu mu fent koraav wodro zul los muliik! You have called, and I have come. Now we shall see whose voice is stronger!

Nid, Dovahkiin. Nii los hi wo fen lost wah horvutah zey! No, Dragonborn. It is you who will have to catch me.

Hi aal ahtiid qah do dii zeymah, Dovahkiin… Nuz hi fen neh kos dovah. You may wear the armor of my brothers, Dragonborn…but you will never be a dragon.

meyus joor foolish mortal

Horvutah med kodaav Trapped like a bear

Zok frini grind ko grah drun viiki, Dovahkiin. (loose translation) My hot temper brought about my own defeat.

Zu'u bonaar. I am humbled.

Rinik vazah. Very true.

Alduin bovul. Alduin flees.

Mindoraan, pah ok middovahhe lahvraan til. Understand, all his loyalists muster there.

Zu'u lost ofan hin laan. I have given you what you want.

Aam? Ni tiid. Serve? Never. (Literally, "at no time")

Zu'u ni tahrodiis, Dovahkiin…Vobalaan grahmindol. I am no traitor, Dragonborn…Unworthy stratagem. (Literally, he is reminding the Dragonborn that he wasn't the one who used trickery to capture a foe.)

Hin aar, orin nu. Your servant, even now.

su'um voice (Literally, "breath")

prok lahzey Arch-Mage

Saraan uth I await your command

Zok brit uth, Dovahkiin! A most beautiful command, Dragonborn!