CHAPTER FIVE – BAD BLOOD

Time passed quicker than Sissel would ever have imagined it could.

The days went by in more or less the same way. She'd wake early, spend a few minutes reading before heading downstairs to eat. Then she'd gather her books and they'd set out together on horseback across the Pale, Jenassa riding Enamor, her brown mare, and Sissel seated behind Ozan on Shadowmere. Once they reached Erandur's temple, they would go their separate ways, with Ozan and Jenassa heading off to whatever work it was that they did, and Sissel beginning the day's lessons. Erandur was a good teacher – firm, but unfailingly kind. He and Sissel and Alesan would usually spend a few hours in the morning cleaning old junk out of the temple. Then a few more hours of magic practice, and maybe some other lessons, about the cultures and history and geography of Tamriel, and then some time free for them to read or talk.

At some point in the evening, Ozan and Jenassa would return. They'd ride back home. Another meal, and then she'd head up to her room. Sometimes Ozan would sit beside her bed and tell her one of his entrancing stories, and those were her favourite kinds of evenings, because she loved hearing him speak freely. Once he had finished, there would always be a short silence. Then he would say, 'Good night, Sissel,' snuff out the candle by her bedside, and retreat from her room on silent feet.

The only real measure of how much time was passing was what she learned. From being able to put out only the tiniest flames, she became skilled enough to ignite the logs in the fireplace at home with a single flick of her hand, and then capable of launching a small bolt of fire which, Erandur said, could save her life if she was ever ambushed by a wolf or even a bandit. And then there were the healing spells, too – beginning with just the simple ones that could heal cuts or scrapes, and then more complex spells which might close a deep wound and save someone's life. At first, if someone in Dawnstar called for their help curing a sick child or a wounded friend, Erandur and Alesan would tend to them, with Sissel watching to see how it was done. But soon enough, Erandur was asking for her help too – 'See to those cuts, please, Sissel, while we deal with the infected wound,' or, 'Sissel, could you cast a Calm spell on her so she stops writhing? Well done.'

Sometimes, when Ozan told his tales in the evening, Sissel would find herself smiling as she realised that she knew about the period of history he was describing, or that she knew all about the laws and customs of the place the latest tale was set. And Erandur was not her only teacher. One day Ozan went riding out alone, leaving Sissel and Jenassa at home, and when he returned, he was leading a dapple-grey pony by the halter. 'He's yours,' he said simply, and Sissel hugged him and thanked him again and again. The rest of the day was spent listening to Ozan's instructions as he taught her how to make the pony – she named him Cyrus - move and stop, and how to steer. She had a long way to go, but every day, the saddle felt more and more natural to sit in, and Cyrus less like an unpredictable animal and more like a friend. It wasn't long before she was able to ride him to Dawnstar and back every day. She was responsible for feeding him and grooming him, and she was fine with that. For one thing, it was farm work, and she knew plenty about farm work, even if Lemkil had never been able to afford a horse. And for a second, having the responsibility, knowing that Ozan trusted her with it… it felt wonderful.

With every passing day, Ozan and Jenassa felt less like strangers who had been compassionate enough to take her in and more like family. Ozan never changed – he was always quiet, always silent unless he had something worth saying, and always kind to her, in his very odd way. Jenassa, though - either she changed, or Sissel had misjudged her. Maybe a bit of both. The Dunmer might not tell stories like Ozan did, but she was the one who stayed up until almost midnight teaching Sissel how to beat Ozan at his favourite card game, and filled in silences when Ozan didn't seem to feel like talking, and offered to clean out Cyrus's stable if Sissel felt too tired to do it herself. And after a while, she became more willing to talk about herself than Ozan. He was the one who'd chosen to adopt her, and yet within a few months Sissel knew more about Jenassa than she did about him.

In fact, what she knew about him was surprisingly little. She knew that he'd been born in Hammerfell, and that he'd been raised to fight, and that he'd had an older sister called Meerah who'd used to tell him stories, and who had been killed by the Thalmor. She knew that he didn't like magic much, but was willing to let her learn about it all the same. She knew that Erandur was his friend – but she had no idea who his other friends were, if he even had any. He sometimes talked about someone called Serana, but if Sissel ever asked to know more about her, Ozan refused to say anything else except that she, like Sissel, was a magic-user.

That was all she knew about him. In fact, she even started writing a list, pressing the piece of parchment in between the pages of one of her magic instruction books to make sure that no one stumbled upon it by accident: 'List Of Things I Don't Know About Ozan.' It was unnervingly long.

Item One: Who his parents were (or are.) He never mentioned them. Meerah, his sister, was the only family member he ever talked about. Maybe he felt the same way about his parents as Sissel had about Lemkil, but all the same, he could just tell her that when she asked, couldn't he?

Item Two: Why he's living in Skyrim if he comes from Hammerfell. That wasn't too big a question – if his sister had died back in Hammerfell, then maybe he'd just wanted to get away from the memories. Sissel would understand that. And even if it turned out that he'd just had enough of sand dunes and decided he preferred snow-capped peaks instead, she'd understand that too. The problem was that he never talked about it. Why was it so hard to just talk about it?

Item Three: What he does all day when he's working and I'm with Erandur and Alesan. This was the biggest question, the one she put most thought to when she was left alone to think and wonder. She knew that he was an adventurer, he'd told her that, and she had no reason to doubt it. She'd watched from the windows from time to time, as he repelled wolves or even bandits that foolishly decided it would be a good idea to attack their home. Though she'd never been able to get a really good look, it was obvious that he knew how to fight, and he could do it well.

The problem was, when she asked him what he'd been during the day, he would purse his lips and say nothing. Jenassa might say something vague about going to a certain part of the province, but never any details about what they'd done there. Why was he so reluctant to talk about it? If he was an adventurer, if he fought monsters and delved into ancient ruins and uncovered lost secrets… why wouldn't he want to talk about that? Why couldn't he give her stories that she could share with Alesan, so that she could boast about him the way Alesan boasted about Erandur?

There were plenty of other questions on the list. Why wasn't he married to Jenassa? What was his mysterious condition that meant he couldn't have children of his own? Who were the people who had brought him up to fight? Where had he learned to fight dragons? Why did Erandur seem to be his only friend – at least, the only one Sissel had met? Where had he got a magical horse like Shadowmere from?

She put them to him, of course. No answer, never any answer. Just a furrowing of his brows. Sometimes an excuse, or a terse, 'I don't want to talk about.' Sometimes he would change the subject; sometimes Jenassa would change him for him. And always, Sissel was left to wonder.

Eventually, she decided to try a different tactic. If Ozan wouldn't answer any questions she asked him, then maybe someone else would. Her first thought was to try Jenassa, but the Dunmer was so close to Ozan that she had a feeling she'd be reluctant to give away his secrets. So she approached the only other person she knew who seemed to know enough about Ozan.

She waited for a moment when Alesan was out of the room, practicing some apprentice-level Illusion spells in private ('It stresses me out when you two watch!') before turning to the Dunmer. 'Erandur…'

'All right, Sissel?'

'Yes. Yes, I'm fine. I was just wondering something. Well, a lot of somethings. I was thinking maybe you'd be able to tell me.'

The priest laid his book down flat on the table next to him so as not to lose his place, then sat up straight in his seat and nodded to her. 'How can I help?'

Sissel breathed in deeply; she'd decided, when planning this, that she'd start off with the simple questions and work up to the difficult ones. If she started off with the hard ones, Erandur might refuse to answer any of them, but if she began with the ones that weren't so important, she might get some answers, even if he refused to answer any more once she got to the more… sensitive topics. 'Erandur, Ozan never talks much about where he comes from. I mean, I know he comes from Hammerfell, but I don't know anything about his family – except for his sister – and why he isn't still living there.'

Erandur clasped his hands together and let out a long breath. 'I don't think Ozan likes talking about his past very much, Sissel. He has a lot of bad memories, and that's something I understand. Something I respect.' He shook his head slightly. 'All I know is that he was raised by a guild of warriors. He barely knew his parents, and they passed out of his life when he was still a very young child. He's never told me any of the details. As for why he came to live in Skyrim… that's not something I know either, though I think it's something to do with the Thalmor attack on his home, during the war.'

That's no good, Sissel thought irritably. It was barely more than she'd already known. The warrior guild, and the absence of his parents – that was news. The rest wasn't. So she decided to ask the question she wondered about most of all. 'You know how he and Jenassa go and work when I'm here…'

From the sudden, watchful look that stole over her teacher's face, she knew that he was on his guard. 'Yes?'

'Do you know what he does?'

Erandur sat very still for a moment. Then he bowed his head, sighed, and gave a small sigh. 'Yes, Sissel, I do. I know what Ozan does for a living. I assume you don't.'

'Well, I know he's an adventurer. He told me once about how he kills dragons. But he never says anything about, you know, what he fights and what he does…'

The Dark Elf gave a slow dip of his head. 'Yes, that's true. Look, Sissel, the thing is… Ozan's line of work is something he… Mara's mercy, I don't know how to put it. All I can say is that I know for certain he wouldn't want me to tell you about it.'

Disappointment crashed through Sissel in a thick wave. 'Why not?'

'Well, I don't think I really need to tell you this, but Ozan is an extremely private person. He doesn't like talking about himself.' Erandur brushed his fingers along his beard. 'I think he prefers to let his actions speak for him.'

What does that even mean? Sissel thought irritably. 'But why doesn't he like talking about himself?'

'For the same reason that you like asking questions.' The Dunmer let out a faint chuckle. 'It's just part of his nature. But it's also because… Azura, it's hard to work out how much I can say. I don't think he'd mind me saying that there are things in his past – and his present, for that matter – that he regrets. He doesn't…' He lifted a hand and rubbed the back of his neck . 'He… he's not proud of a lot of things in his life. Things he's done. Things he still does. He can deal with them, but… I don't think he wants to hurt you by dragging you into them.'

Sissel shook her head; that didn't make anything clearer. 'So he doesn't want me knowing about what he does all day because he doesn't like it? But he's an adventurer. Why wouldn't he like that? Why isn't it something to be proud of?'

'I can't answer that, Sissel. I'm sorry, but I can't.' Erandur picked up his book again. 'May I ask a question of my own?'

'Um. Yes.'

'Why are you asking me this?'

Isn't it obvious? 'Because Ozan never tells me anything about himself, so I want to know what he won't say.'

'I understand that, but why are you asking me, specifically? Why not him?'

'Because…' Sissel hesitated. 'Because he wouldn't tell me. I've asked him before and he won't say. No reason why it should be different if I asked him again.'

Erandur gave his beard another stroke. 'Yes, well. The truth is, Sissel, I respect Ozan too much to tell you anything that he wouldn't tell you himself. I might not agree with his decision, but he has a right to tell you what he chooses about himself. It'd be a betrayal if I shared his secrets.'

He flipped over a page in his book and flicked his eyes down to it in a way that made it very clear that the conversation was closed. And Sissel sat back with a huff and decided not to press the elf any more. Of course she understood that he didn't want to give away Ozan's secrets, and she respected that, but… it was still irritating.

'If you really want to know these things, I recommend you ask Ozan again.' Erandur didn't look up from his book as he spoke. 'And this time, tell him how much it distresses you that you don't know the answers. He cares about you.'

And Sissel nodded, determining to do just that. She wouldn't wait. She'd ask tonight. And she wouldn't stop asking until she had some answers.

For the rest of the day, she ran the questions through in her head. She rehearsed the exact words. She mouthed them out, tried to imagine what Ozan would say, how he'd try to refuse to answer, and what she could say to stop him from shutting her out. She'd ask when Jenassa was around, too – the Dark Elf might take her side and help her persuade Ozan to speak up.

She thought about nothing else for the rest of the day. As they were riding home, the three of them, the words almost escaped her, but nervousness made her falter at the last second, and she hesitated long enough to decide to wait until they were home. It would be easier to speak when they were inside and sitting down in the warm. So when they were within the walls of Heljarchen Hall again, and the fire was blazing, and their food steaming gently on their plates, Sissel breathed in deeply, set down her cutlery, and looked her foster father in the eye. 'Ozan, what do you and Jenassa do when I'm with Erandur at the temple?'

There was a long silence, as Jenassa held a fork halfway to her mouth and Ozan sat still with his hands resting on the table. Then he gave a small shake of his head. 'We've discussed this before. I can't say.'

'You can say. You just don't want to.' Sissel crossed her arms across her chest. 'I think I've got a right to know.'

'You have a right.' He gave one of his sharp, single nods. 'We often have right to what we can't have.'

Sissel gritted her teeth. 'Look. I live here. I live in your house, I eat your food, I listen to your stories – and I'm grateful for that. I'm really happy here.' That was the truth, and she hoped he could hear how much she meant it. 'But I know practically nothing about you. It just makes me feel a bit…'

She shifted in her seat, unsure of what to say, and she was glad when Jenassa came to her rescue. 'Uneasy, hmm?'

'Yeah. Exactly.'

Jenassa twisted her head around and looked at Ozan, one eyebrow raised. The Redguard shook his head again.

'Zan. She can know some things.'

He bowed his head. 'We work for a guild. They give us tasks. We carry them out.'

Finally, she was getting somewhere. Sissel inched forward in her seat. 'What kind of guild? Is it the same guild that brought you up in Hammerfell – you know, a Skyrim branch of it?'

He shook his head, and, to her relief, didn't ask her how she'd learned about the guild in question.

'Are they the people that taught you to kill dragons?'

Another head-shake.

'What do they send you to do?'

His fingers tightened around his knife and fork, and he made no reply.

'When I first met you, in Rorikstead, you told me that you fought dragons.' Sissel narrowed her eyes. 'If you don't do that with your guild thing, when do you do it? Or were you lying about doing that?'

He looked up sharply, and Sissel could see the hurt in his eyes. 'I do it,' he said quietly.

'We don't do that so much anymore.' Jenassa placed one hand on Ozan's shoulder, as if trying to steady him. Or comfort him. 'Not since we took you in. We used to spend days tracking the beasts across Skyrim, but now we'd feel a little guilty about leaving you alone for so long.'

Sissel's breathing calmed slightly; this made sense, and it was kind of them to stay around Dawnstar for her sake. 'OK. I get it. But what do you do instead?'

'We can't say. We really can't.' Jenassa pursed her lips. 'I know that's a fairly frustrating answer, but it's the truth. In the circumstances.'

She cast a meaningful look at Ozan as she spoke, as if there were more to what she was saying than was obvious, something that Ozan would understand, but Sissel wouldn't. And she certainly didn't understand.

'I just wish you'd tell me things,' she muttered.

'We understand that,' Jenassa said. 'And maybe some day we'll be able to tell you.'

'Is this one of those we'll tell you when you're older things?' Sissel demanded. 'Because Jouane was always doing that, and I always hated it. Is it against the law to be young or something?'

Ozan shook his head. 'No.'

'It's not that we think you're too young to cope with it.' Jenassa was tugging at her hair, something she often did when she was uncomfortable. 'It's just that… well.'

It's that you think I'm too young to cope. Which means that whatever it is is something that needs coping with. So it's something they don't think I'd like.

What could Ozan and Jenassa possibly be doing that they thought – or knew, even – that Sissel would feel bad about? Even Erandur didn't seem to agree with whatever it was. He'd said as much. He'd said that Ozan was ashamed of some of the things he'd done, and some of the things he still did.

What were her adopted parents hiding?

Sissel glanced down at her food. She suddenly didn't feel so hungry.

'I'm full,' she said, pushing her pate away.

Ozan's brow furrowed, and he made as if to rise. 'Sissel…'

'I'm going to bed.'

She shoved her chair back and made for the stairs, relieved when neither of them called after her or tried to stop her. All that happened was that Jenassa muttered something to Ozan that she only just caught – 'And she's not even a teenager yet.'

Hidden from their eyes and ears by the walls of her room, Sissel hunted around until she found a quill, an ink bottle, and a clean piece of parchment. It was time to start a new list. Things I've found out about Ozan.

It didn't surprise her that it turned out shorter than her list of questions. She wrote down what little she knew about his family and his life back in Hammerfell, then scrawled out what Erandur had told her that morning, then finally what Ozan and Jenassa had just told her. It wasn't much. So she turned over the paper and wrote the title of a new list: Ideas about how I could find out answers to the stuff Ozan won't tell me.

She sucked on the end of the quill for a moment. Right now, she couldn't think of anything to put down.

After a minute or two of thinking offered up no answers, she stuffed the writing equipment back onto the top of her dresser and flopped onto her bed. She'd think about that more some other time.

As she closed her eyes, a new thought occurred to her: did it really matter? Ozan and Jenassa were kind to her. She liked living with them. It was ten times better than the Honourhall, and a million times better than living in Rorikstead with Lemkil and Britte. The fact that Ozan and Jenassa did some things she didn't know about and didn't talk to her about some things didn't change that. Maybe she should just let this go. Maybe it wasn't important, after all.

Make up your mind, Sissel, she told herself silently. Keep asking questions, or don't. You've got to pick one or the other.

But in the end, she didn't. She didn't make up her mind.

The dragon made it up for her.

Summer came, the sun showing enough through the clouds to melt the snow that normally formed a permanent covering over the land around Heljarchen Hall, and finally allowing Sissel to spend as much of the day outside as she'd been able to in Rorikstead. Then, much of her free time, when she hadn't been studying magic, had been spent making her own entertainment on the grasslands around the village. And the area around the hall was a ready-made playground, with its log piles and rocky slopes and open spaces.

Sometimes, she saddled up Cyrus and rode him around the house; she was getting better and better at controlling him every day. Under Ozan's supervision, she'd even managed to canter short distances. And sometimes, her foster parents would join her if she begged them enough, playing tag and hide and seek – though Ozan was nigh-on impossible to find if they played the latter. He made up for being a frustrating playtime partner, though, by bringing her a small wooden dagger and demonstrating how to use it.

It touched her that he treated her like an adult in these lessons. Sissel knew that if she ever had to use a real dagger, it would be because someone was trying to hurt her, and in that situation, there would be no point beating around the bush. 'Go for the parts that'll really hurt them,' Ozan told her simply. 'The eyes, for instance, if you can reach them.'

It was as they were having one of these lessons, with Ozan reaching over to her to adjust her grip on her play-weapon's hilt, that they heard it. The roar. That fierce and terrifying sound, a sound that ordered you to listen, a sound that did not only sound in your ears but resonated through your bones and kicked your heartbeat into a frantic rhythm. It crashed down over the side of the slope that led down to the house, sending birds screeching up from the trees, wings pumping. Cyrus and Enamor let out shrill whinnies from their stable, and Shadowmere reared up on her hind legs. Something about the sharp neighing sound she made sounded like a challenge.

Ozan let go of Sissel's wrist and straightened up. A stillness and tension stole over his body, every muscle going rigid, his jaw clenching. Then he lifted his head to the sky. His lips moved, words Sissel couldn't catch. His eyes flicked from side to side, taking in the expanse of sky above them. And then he let out a soft hiss and reached for his dagger.

'Dragon,' he snarled, and he did not say it in that almost nonchalant way he had when he and Sissel had heard a roar like this back in Rorikstead, when they'd first met. He said it… angrily. There was so much fury behind that one word that Sissel's blood ran cold. Not for her sake. For the sake of the dragon. If it came here… Ozan would kill it. That was a fact.

'Is it close?' she whispered.

He nodded. 'Yes. And coming closer.' Placing one hand on her shoulder, he pulled her – gently, but firmly – towards the house. 'You need to get inside. And stay there.'

Jenassa met them in the entryway, holding Ozan's scimitar in one hand, and his bow and quiver tucked under the other arm. He took them wordlessly and swept up his black jacket-coat from the hook where it hung. 'Jenassa. Get your armour. It's coming here.'

As Jenassa spun around and sped off to obey, Ozan threw on his gear, his movements so swift that Sissel couldn't follow them. In a moment, the scimitar hung at his belt, the bow and quiver were slung over his shoulder, and he was drawing up his hood. He had transformed from a quiet, gentle man who calmly and patiently taught his adopted daughter how to use a wooden dagger to a fighter, a warrior even, a man who was ready to walk out into the open and face down a dragon, and suddenly, Sissel was afraid for him.

'What if it breathes fire?' She tried to keep her voice steady as she spoke, but annoyingly, it insisted on trembling. 'You'll get burned. You'll get killed.'

He shook his head and patted his coat. 'Enchanted. Resists fire and frost.'

'I thought you didn't like magic.'

'Only magic I can't trust.' He bent down and placed a hand on each of her shoulders. 'Sissel. This is hard to ask. But I need you to hide.'

Sissel's first thought was that she wanted to do nothing more than hide. But she quickly realised that wasn't true. She wanted to help – except that she couldn't help. So what she wanted to do was just to watch. To make sure that Ozan and Jenassa were all right. She didn't want them to get hurt. How could she stay inside, away from the fight, not knowing whether they were winning or losing? They could be clawed or burned or bitten or crushed or anything and they'd be on their own. And she wouldn't know.

'I can help,' she protested. 'I can use healing magic –'

'No.' The word was fierce, firm, allowing no argument. 'Can't fight unless I know you're safe.'

The roar sounded again, and this time Sissel didn't need Ozan to tell her that the dragon was coming towards them, because the sound was closer and louder and suddenly all the more chilling.

'Sissel. Please. Stay inside. Basement's safe; even if it burns down the house, it can't reach you inside there. Floors and walls are stone. Won't burn. Trapdoor's enchanted too. Made it to be safe from dragons.'

The basement? That was worse. She wouldn't even be able to hear the fight.

'Please,' Ozan said again, and as if to hurry up her answer, the dragon screeched again.

Sissel swallowed and dipped her head. 'OK.'

'Good. Thank you.'

The sound of feet thumping on the stairs heralded Jenassa's arrival. She was still adjusting the traps on her armour, and she was missing a pauldron, but her face held the same steely determination as Ozan's, and she too had armed herself. 'I'm ready.'

Ozan nodded and turned to the door. 'Let's go.'

He marched out of the house without looking back. Jenassa stopped as she passed Sissel, gave her a small smile and whispered, 'We'll be back,' and hurried after Ozan.

The house was oddly silent once they were gone. Eerily silent. Sissel breathed in deeply and headed towards the basement. She hadn't been down there often. There wasn't much down there, after all; it was a storage area, mostly. But once she was inside, Sissel understood how it was a perfect dragon-proof shelter. It had two rooms, and if she hid inside the second, a dragon probably wouldn't be able to see her, even if it smashed open the trapdoor and stuck its head through the hole – if it would even fit. Even if it tried to breathe fire into the basement, there was nothing that would burn.

Sissel sat down with her back against a wall and tried not to think about what might be happening outside. She couldn't hear anything now, not even the roaring.

What would Ozan and Jenassa be doing? Maybe they would be firing at it from the ground. Maybe they'd be aiming for the eyes, just like Ozan had told Sissel to do with her dagger. Or maybe Ozan would jump onto its head and stab his blade down into its brain. Maybe he'd drink one of his potions, one of the kind that turned you invisible, and wait still and silent until the dragon showed him a weak spot to strike.

Or maybe the dragon would snatch them both up in its jaws and bite the life from their bodies, then torch the house to a cinder.

Sissel jumped her feet. She couldn't do this. She just couldn't. She couldn't sit here, hiding underground, while her foster parents battled a monster from the darkest of legends just outside the walls. She could count the number of people who had been kind to her throughout her entire life on her fingers, and if she lost two of them…

She ran for the ladder. Her fingers slipped on the cool wood as she scrambled up, but she was at the top in what felt like a heartbeat, wrestling the trapdoor open and emerging into the house. To her relief, the walls were as sturdy and firm as they ever had been – the dragon had not set its flame to the house. Not yet, at least.

Her first instinct was to make for the door, but she realised quickly that if she did that, Ozan and Jenassa would see her right away and send her back inside. There was somewhere else from where she could watch the fight – and, if necessary, she might be close enough to it to help.

So she made for the tower instead, hurrying up the stairs and along the landing on the house's second storey, wrenching the door open, clambering up the ladder. This time she was more careful with the trapdoor – if she flung it open, the movement and the noise might attract the dragon's attention, and she didn't fancy having an enraged giant lizard noticing that she was there. So she inched it open, bit by bit. A blast of cold air struck her in the face as she lifted it – followed a moment later by noise.

Roaring. More roaring, but different now. The roars they had heard before had sounded like challenges. They had been somehow… proud. But there was nothing dignified about the sounds crashing through the air now. They were pure anger. She'd heard sounds like them before – they had the same kind of fury and bitterness behind them that had been behind the grunts and shouts Lemkil had made whenever he swung a fist her way. I have a right to hurt you, was what those sounds said. You have no right to defy me.

She didn't know how she knew that. She just knew. She knew what that dragon meant as it screeched. Of course she didn't know what it was saying. Ozan had told her that dragons had their own language, but Sissel had no idea how to speak it or understand it. But somehow she knew what the dragon was feeling, and it scared her.

The roars weren't the only sounds, though. Here and there, she heard faint clacks that might be the sounds of blades or arrows deflecting off scales, and sweeping noises that were, perhaps, caused by the dragon's tail whipping up the snow. No wingbeats, though. A dragon's wings must make a heavy beating sound, one that she'd be able to hear from where she was, so if she couldn't heart any, then it must be on the ground right now.

She pushed the trapdoor open the last few centimetres, and waited a few moments. When no winged, scaled monstrosity threw itself in her direction, she sucked in a breath and pulled herself up into the open.

Sissel stood up straight on the tower top and looked out over the roof of the house to the open area in front of its doors. And she knew instantly that what she saw there was something she would never forget, no matter how long she lived. You didn't forget a sight like this. You couldn't.

The dragon was crouching at the foot of the slope. It wasn't like she had imagined it would be. She hadn't expected a kindly-faced grey dragon like the one from her dream (she still had it, some nights), but nor had she been expecting a silvery-white creature with rows of spikes as long as her legs running from its head to its tail-tip. She just hadn't imagined dragons could look like that. Nor had she ever imagined that they could be so… beautiful.

The way its neck and tail curved, sinuous and powerful. Like the flow of a river over rapids. The sharp contrast of pale scales and black spines. The undeniable intelligence on its face. This was no mindless beast, like the troll that Erandur had fought off in Alesan's story. This was… it seemed impossible, but this was a person.

But it was also dangerous. That graceful curving neck was twisting around to face Ozan, who stood some distance away, scimitar in one hand, dagger in the other. Its teeth were bared, and its eyes were narrowed. And yet… even though it was an enormous monster, and Ozan and Jenassa were just mortals, Sissel realised instantly that it was coming off worse in the fight. There were arrows embedded up to the fletching in its wing joints, and there was a gash under one eye, where a blow from Ozan's blade, perhaps, had split open the scales and pierced the flesh. There were streaks of crimson over those snow-coloured scales.

And from the way Ozan and Jenassa circled it, weapons raised and faces utterly unafraid, Sissel knew that they had no intention of losing this fight. Her breath caught in her throat. How could she ever have thought that Ozan was lying about fighting dragons?

The dragon moved suddenly, its neck jerking back and its mouth opening wide. A new sound split the air – at first, Sissel thought it was just another screech, but then it took on a form, the bellowing noise twisting itself into nouns and consonants. Words.

'FO KRAH DIIN!'

When she saw its mouth convulse, as if it were spitting something out from the depths of its throat, she expected fire. But what lanced from its maw was ice. As if it had swallowed a blizzard and was now spewing it forth, giving it direction and deadly purpose. The ice torrent shot towards Ozan – but Ozan was no longer there. He'd moved, moved faster than the eye could follow. The black blur that was all Sissel could really see of him threw itself down and to the side, and the ice swept over it.

The dragon's teeth snapped, and its tail lashed from side to side like a cat's. It seemed infuriated that it had missed. The wings swept up and pushed down. For a moment, Sissel stared, some part of her unable to believe that just those wings could lift such a huge bulk off the ground. And then her mouth dropped open as they did just that. If it had seemed graceful on the ground, it was a hundred times more so in the air. Sissel crouched low, pleading under her breath with the Divines to not let it see her.

Ozan strode forwards. His weapons were lowered, and his eyes were fixed on the rising dragon. Even from a distance, Sissel could see his mouth open. And he… shouted. Except it wasn't a shout. It was a roar. A roar that formed itself into words, just as the dragon's had.

'Joor ZAH FRUL!'

Blue light shot forward from all around him, and the dragon let out a howl. It was a sound that expressed a fear and horror so fierce that Sissel felt goosebumps break out over her skin. More light, the same shade as the shockwave that had flown out from Ozan, settled itself around the dragon's wings and back, almost as if it were pushing the dragon down to earth. And the dragon was certainly dropping, as if it had forgotten how to use its wings. It was shaking its head in an odd, desperate way, and when it hit the ground, it was no longer the unstoppable predator. It was… backing away.

Ozan shoved his scimitar back into the loop at his belt that held it, and transferred his dagger – the short one with the sleek, almost evil-looking spurs on either side of the blade – into his right hand. Then he started to run – not away from the dragon, but towards it. It raised its head and bared its teeth, but Jenassa loosed an arrow that forced it to turn its head to the side or risk taking the shaft through the eye. And as it turned to avoid the arrow, Ozan leaped. His feet powered him up and away from the ground. For a moment, he hung in the air. Then he dropped down onto the dragon's head.

Sissel forgot about staying low. She leaped to her feet and grasped the edge of the railing around the tower. She wanted to see this. She had to see it. Her foster father had landed smoothly, and now he was seizing one of the dragon's horns with his free hand to keep himself steady. With the other, he was raising his dagger high. Ready to bring it down. To make the kill.

The dragon's muscles tensed suddenly, and with a terrifying certainly, Sissel knew exactly what was going to happen before it did. She sucked in air to shout out a warning, but the dragon was already rolling, flipping itself over and onto its back in a tangle of wings and limbs. There was no question of Ozan staying on its head, nor was there any chance that he would finish the strike. In a moment, he was on the ground. And then the dragon rolled back onto its feet.

In books, Sissel had read about people watching terrible things happening suddenly seeing in slow motion. Now, she started to understand why they said that. Things didn't slow down, but her brain was working at twice the normal speed, and everything else seemed slow. Her first thought was that Ozan was lying helpless. The second was that Jenassa, still nocking an arrow to her bow, wouldn't be able to fire before the dragon attacked. The third was that Ozan would die unless someone helped. The fourth was that Erandur had just finished teaching her long-range fire spells.

She didn't hesitate. She didn't think twice about what she was doing. She simply curled her fingers inward and reached for the spark of power inside her. Found it. And released it. The fire lit in her palm, and she threw her arm outwards, towards that beautiful yet deadly creature that was drawing its head back to kill her foster father.

The firebolt left her hand with an angry hiss, snapped through the air like an arrow, and struck the dragon directly over its eye.

Time snapped back to its normal rate as the dragon reared up, threw out its wings, tipped back its head, and screamed. Sissel's throat ran dry. Had she just done that? Had she fired a spell – a Destruction spell – at another living being? Had she hit?

She saw Jenassa's head snap around to face her, and heard the Dunmer's voice call her name in tones of mixed shock and fear. Ozan, however, made no sound. He leaped back onto his feet, snatched up his dagger, and crouched like a cat about to pounce. And as the dragon dropped back down, he simply lifted his hand – and the weapon it held - above his head.

The dragon brought its neck down, and the dagger went right through its throat.

Ozan left the blade there for no more than a second before wrenching it out and rolling to the side. An instant later, the dragon crashed to the ground. That one blow, struck in the right place, was enough. Its tail whipped back and forth, and its legs twitched. And then its movements grew weaker, and weaker, and weaker still, and finally stopped.

Sissel breathed in deeply, preparing herself to run outside to join Ozan and Jenassa and receive a scolding for not obeying them. But then something happened that made her hesitate. The dragon had stopped moving, but… there was movement around its body. Sparks of light and... fire.

Ozan knelt down and placed one hand on the dragon's neck. And as he did so, that huge, white-scaled body began to burn. Fire was licking over it, from tail-tip to the end of its nose, but though it washed over Ozan's hand, it did not seem to hurt him. And as the dragon's body burned, it seemed to fragment. Scales and claws and bits of the wing membrane were floating upwards, glowing red and gold, and vanishing into the flames, leaving nothing but bones behind them.

And then the strands of light began to flow forward from the depths of the fire. The flames were spreading now, over the entirety of the body, and just as the last scale was stripped away, the thin white threads, glowing like stars, wove up through the air.

Ozan, still kneeling, bowed his head. He stayed very still as the light neared him. And as it touched him – disappeared inside him – he still did not move. Not until the light was gone, and the dragon was nothing but a bare skeleton, did he stir. He shuddered, ever so slightly, and clambered to his feet.

Everything was very still for a moment. Sissel's mouth was dry.

She knew the stories. She'd heard the rumours. But she'd never imagined…

She flung the trapdoor back open and sped down the ladder. Her heart was thumping, her mind was whirling, and her limbs couldn't move fast enough. She heard the front door open, and the sound of feet, and quickened her pace. She reached the top of the stairs just as Ozan and Jenassa reached the bottom, and stopped running.

'You're the Dragonborn,' she burst out, as he reached the landing.

He looked at her, and did not answer.

'We told you to stay inside!' Jenassa snapped.

Sissel didn't look at her. Her eyes were fixed on Ozan, who stood gazing wordlessly back at her.

'You're the Dragonborn,' she repeated. 'Why didn't you tell me?'

He opened his mouth, licked his lips, and stood motionless for a moment more before speaking. 'Sissel…'

'You never tell me anything!' Sissel gritted her teeth together. He couldn't do this. He couldn't just leave her in the dark about everything and accept her to just accept it. 'You keep saying I'm too young or that you can't tell me and you just let me wonder about it. And now I find out I've been living for months in the same house as the Dragonborn. When were you planning to tell me that?'

He dropped his eyes away. 'I would have.'

'When I was old enough to take it? Why don't I have a right to know? What gives you a right to lie to me?'

'We have not been lying to you.' Jenassa stepped forward to stand at Ozan's side. 'We've been trying to do what's best.'

'How is this what's best?'

The Dunmer's eyes narrowed. 'Have you considered that it's not something Ozan wants people to know about?'

'Why not? The Dragonborn's a hero. You're a hero.' Sissel shook her head, bewildered. 'You killed Alduin. You saved the whole world. Why wouldn't you want people to know?'

The Redguard closed his eyes. 'Same reason I don't like talking.'

Sissel hadn't intended to get angry. But suddenly, she was, and she couldn't help it. 'Because you don't want people to know you? Because you just don't like people? Why do you only care about what you want? What about me? How am I supposed to feel safe living here when I don't know who you are?'

Jenassa's jaw clenched. 'This isn't about you, Sissel!'

'Then why am I here?'

The sound of her shout echoed away into complete silence. Sissel glared up at them. They stared back. Jenassa's eyes were wide with shock. Ozan looked as if she'd slapped him.

Sissel couldn't look at them any more. She spun around, marched into her room, and slammed the door with all the force she could muster.

She knew she was being unreasonable. She knew that what she'd just said was hurtful and wrong. But it had come out, it had been said, and there was no taking it back. No going back to where they'd been ten minutes ago.

When the white dragon landed outside the hall, it had set changes into motion. And now, Sissel had made her choice.

Because I can't write a Skyrim story without throwing a dragon battle in there somewhere...

I have an announcement to make, and it's not going to be a very welcome one. My exams are approaching, and they're pretty important. I've been trying to set time out every day to write, but as I get ever more stressed out, I don't think I can expend brain energy on writing unless I'm feeling inspired – so I'm going to be writing rather more intermittently, so updates are going to be slower. I'm really sorry, but rest assured the story will continue to be updated, just not at the fastest pace. Please bear with me!

I'm going to be spending much of the next few weeks revising, but in my spare time, I will still be working on this, and I hope you enjoy what's still to come. Thanks for reading. :)