Chapter 24: Lucia's Heritage

There was a key around the elf's neck which Brynjolf had not noticed before, and it was glowing. The lock to that chest must have been protected in way that would not let the potential burglar notice until they tried to open it. Clever. Damn those elves. Whenever there were elves, there was also obnoxious magic which would get in the way in the most inconvenient moments. Oblivion take it.

"Have you sent your prayers to Stendarr?" the elf asked with a contemptuous smirk as he watched Brynjolf's blurred image turn tangible solid. The effects of the invisibility potion had worn off.

The thief replied with the same smirk.

"Stendarr?" he chuckled mockingly. "Unless he spends his time attending tea parties with Nocturnal and secretly plotting who is worth of his mercy, I don't think I have anything to say to him." And in that case, the good old Hermaeus Mora would be the one organizing the parties, he snorted sarcastically in his thoughts.

The tip of the gilded blade touching the skin on his neck was cold. One wrong movement and it would be buried deep into his throat, and he did not like the thought at all. He was wondering as to why the stinking Altmer even bothered keeping him alive. He stood over him, his grip firm around the hilt of his gilded sword, his stance wide and focused. There was a slight, almost unnoticeable tremble running through his body, and Brynjolf had to smile to himself when he realized that his captor was nervous. Obviously, he had been put in the exact same spot as the red-haired thief. One wrong movement and all would be lost. He did not want to kill him, for whatever reason.

Brynjolf waited. He would not be the first one to make a mistake.

The figures in ornate armors and dark robes were running frantically back and forth, the lights of the torches that some of them were holding creating a fascinating display of shining lines and curves as they contrasted with the darkness of the night. Aislinn, hidden behind a rock at the moment, sent another Shout in a randomly selected direction, confusing them even more. Some of the elves were starting to realize that there was something off about the mysterious voice which kept calling to them from multiple places and she was sure that her cover would be blown soon. But Brynjolf was not coming.

She gave herself one more minute. One minute until she would have to retreat if she was to come out of this unharmed. Even now she was disobeying Brynjolf's order to run away the moment any kind of complication would seem to arise.

"If anything seems wrong, you leave me there and get away. You absolutely must not let them catch you again."

She understood that, and there were several reasons that she kept repeating to herself in her mind over and over again, as to why she should stay safe even if it meant the death of her companion. But the thought sent a painful stab in her heart. What would she do if she lost Brynjolf here? It had never crossed her mind before, as she had been the one hunted and threatened all the time, but now he was in danger and it hurt. She would not be able to bear losing him. Just what would she do if she was to never see him again? Would it be worth for her to save the world anyway? The world which would surely lose color and all its appeal without him being a part of it anymore?

Now that was one selfish thought… but in the end, the red-haired thief meant a world to her. He was the one who had saved her many times before, and the one who always stood by her, no matter what kind of insanity she decided to pull off. He was the one who had sacrificed his freedom and comfort to aid her in her quest, never mind the absurdity of it, the one who had brought her back when doubts and fear had been about to get the better of her, and the one who had claimed her, which was a fact she definitely did not dislike.

"You can kill the whole world off, but don't ever sacrifice your loved ones if you want to be able to live with yourself."

She blinked in surprise as the words rang in her head. Someone had once told her this… but who? When? It was a memory from the time before that fateful day when she had woken up tied up in the carriage that had been supposed to take her to her execution. A fragment from the time that she had no recollection of… or more like she had had no recollection of. That voice had been full of regret.

Aislinn raised her head. A cacophony of screams interrupted the train of her thoughts as the elves realized that there was silence, for she had ceased her Shouts unintentionally. She darted from her hiding place where she would be discovered moments later as she had done numerous times during the last few minutes, keeping in the shadows as she crept to the wooden building in front of her. Swiftly she moved to its rear wall and followed it to her left, turning around so her back was pressed to it and she was now sidestepping to her right. There was a porch on the reverse side of the building, its wooden structure lifted about four feet above the ground which made it a perfect spot for hiding. And she would see the entrance to the former headquarters of Penitus Oculatus perfectly from there.

Unlike when she had left the place before, the door to the headquarters was open and bright golden light shone from inside. A number of elves were running back and forth, crossing the road in front of her constantly, until a figure strode from the building, dragging someone with them. Aislinn could recognize the red hair which blazed like the fires of Oblivion in the light that kept coming from the house. A gilded blade was pressed to the neck of its bearer and her heart stopped when she realized what was going on. They must have recognized him. Blast his habit of not wearing any helmet. Then again, perhaps it was thanks to this that he was still alive.

His armor was dented and awfully bent in some places, and she imagined it hard to breathe with the way some of the ebony scales were indented in the area of his chest. His hair was messy, a large part of it lank with sweat and blood. The elf at his side was equally ragged and Aislinn assumed there must have been a fierce fight between those two. Still, she had to commend Brynjolf in her thoughts on being able to fare so well with just a dagger against a fully equipped and well-rested elf. Maybe she would tell him later, but now she had to decide quickly. It would take just a moment for the elf to consult the others, come to the conclusion that the Dragonborn must be there somewhere and try to lure her out, threatening her companion. Either way, she was exposed. Just how quickly would they be able to react if she Shouted? And how quickly would Brynjolf adapt?

There was no other way. She had to put her trust in him. And so her voice roared throughout the land.

"Zun Haal Viik!"

The gilded sword flew out of the elf's hands in an instant. Luckily, Brynjolf was fast enough to catch it in the air, but Aislinn did not have time to watch them fight. She darted along the house behind her and back to the rocks which had kept her hidden a while ago. A minute, that was the time she needed Brynjolf to hang in there until she came and saved him. There was no other way anymore, she had to call for aid. Unwillingly, she sent Lucien Lachance to thief's side again, a little disgusted at his face which showed nothing but bloodlust. Then she ran as fast as she could, hoping that no rotstone mist would reach her until she could Shout again. So much for keeping her location a secret… but it was either that or saving Brynjolf, and out of these two options, she knew well which one she would choose.

He's going to kill me for this, she thought to herself bitterly when she mulled over what she was about to do. But that's still better than him being killed by the Altmer. I can revive. Hopefully.

The minute felt like eternity and she kept running all around the village, avoiding the sharp elven eyes cautiously. And then, when her breath returned, she wasted no time.

"Dur Neh Viir!" Her voice echoed through the land, spreading far and wide, shaking the rocks above her and rippling the Karth River below. She heard the elves nearby scream in surprise but the strange dragon with ghostly green skin and ragged wings was already at her side, a sinister violet light glowing around him, and she mounted his jagged neck before he could move an inch.

"Qahnaarin, what…" he started, obviously just as surprised as the approaching Altmer were, but she cut him off at once.

"Soar now," she ordered without an explanation.

"I do not understand. You want to ride me?" he asked and Aislinn cursed his slow speech.

"Not now," she hissed. "Up. We have a lot to do."

The ragged wings glowed with ancient magic as the undead dragon rose. Even shrouded in the darkness of the night, the land was beautiful from above and Aislinn remembered the first time she had flown on the back of Odahviing, the snowy mountain tops running seemingly lazily in the opposite direction as they had torn through the ice cold air and she had fought the tears in her eyes in order to see the land below. She did not have much time for reminiscing, though, for there was a group of angry elves on the ground and a lost red-haired thief who required her assistance. She whispered to Durnehviir silently but clearly enough and he listened. Then he dove and swooped down, his mighty talons grabbing a red-haired figure from the ground as gently as a dragon could. A volley of arrows and magical missiles rose from the ground, but the dragon paid them no attention and simply flew into the distance as soon as possible.

Aislinn knit her brows when she saw Brynjolf's body hanging there limply and instructed her mount to land on the mountain looming over Dragon's Bridge. It was a summit that no mortal without wings would be able to reach and so she left out a soft sigh of relief as she pulled Brynjolf to a relative safety. He stared at her weakly.

"Sheogorath's mad eyes, lass, what in Oblivion did you just do?!" he scolded her sternly as he sat down on a rock and shivered slightly with cold which was getting under his skin here in the tremendous heights of the mountains.

She smiled a little at him. He was hurt but the fact that he talked to her with such vigor could only mean that he would be all right.

"I…" she prepared to answer his question but stopped at once as she noticed lights on both south-western and north-eastern horizon. They blazed with myriads of fiery dots, shimmering and dancing merrily in two thin lines. But the lines were slowly getting thicker and the lights moved.

"Blasted fatty troll head," she whispered. The thief looked up to her curiously and she pointed at the two golden lines simultaneously. "Armies. We have to get those people out of there, this will most likely be their meeting place." She nodded towards the village below.

"There's a bunch of angry elves waiting for you down there," he pointed with a smirk but she shook her head.

"Durnehviir can take them," she answered simply and readied herself to hop on his back again.

"He'll burn the village down in no time!" the thief objected but Aislinn smiled.

"That's taken into account," she said. "Unlike Odahviing, Durnehviir is a frost dragon."

Brynjolf shook his head in disbelief.

"You coming with me?" she asked and stretched out her hand in a beckoning gesture.

He shot the undead reptile a doubtful glance and hesitated before standing up slowly. Aislinn stared at him.

"Are you maybe… afraid of heights?" she asked a little timidly.

"I am a thief," he said as if it explained everything. She raised her brows.

"Meaning I stick to the dark and cramped places, shady corners, tunnels and such," he added.

"So you're afraid of heights," she summed it up.

"Well… aye," he sighed helplessly in resignation. "I'm afraid of heights. Or, rather, I'm afraid of the depths below them."

She walked towards him and grabbed both of his hands in hers. He jerked a little at the sudden contact and looked into her eyes unintentionally.

"Hold onto me tightly," she said reassuringly. "I won't let anything happen to you, I promise."

"It's not about something happening to me," he mumbled but she silenced him with a gentle hug.

"Then think of nothing but me," she breathed. "Trust me."

She was not being fair to him. He walked away from her to the distance of an arm's length and looked at her firmly.

"Then promise me two things," he invited.

"This is not the best time to…"

"Just do it."

She sighed. "What is it?"

"First, we're going to make it out of this safe and sound."

She nodded.

"Second, you're going to give me a day of your life."

There was a moment of silence before she turned her puzzled eyes to him and spoke. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that for one day you're going to do exactly as I tell you. Whatever I say, you're going to abide by it."

"Are you… planning on making me your slave?" she uttered in astonishment at the boldness of his demand.

"A slave? Well, maybe, if you want to call it that," he said and a pair of merry sparks danced in his eyes.

"And if I say no?" she asked innocently.

He closed the distance between them again, cupping her face in his palms and forcing her to look directly into his eyes.

"You would have the nerve to decline after all that?" he whispered. Although he could not see the beautiful crimson color of her flush dye her soft cheeks in the dark, the warmth in his hands spoke for itself and he grinned a little.

"O-okay, have it your way," she growled and backed away briskly.

"I'll take your word on that," he smiled and let her reach out for him as she mounted the undead dragon again. He seated himself behind her and put his arms around her waist, smirking in amusement as he felt her shiver under his touch. That would do. He would definitely not think of the dangerously hard ground hundreds of feet below him when there was the bright prospect of the lass surrendering herself to him completely. The painful death preceded by a rapid fall from the heavenly heights was simply not an option anymore.

The dragon soared and the pair on his back got a clear sight of the two armies approaching the village.

"I hope the villagers didn't leave their homes," Aislinn whispered anxiously. "I can't be picky about the targets."

"You can't save everyone," he tried to comfort her but she did not seem convinced. Nevertheless, she instructed Durnehviir to swoop down and spray the place with a stunning cone of frost.

"Fo Krah Diin!" she Shouted and her own frost breath joined his. An arrow pierced one of Durnehviir's wings and the dragon staggered, but did not let himself cease the onslaught. Aislinn grabbed the thorn in front of her firmly and regretted not being able to use a bow at such a moment. She felt Brynjolf behind her tighten his grip as the dragon kept twisting and turning in the air in attempt to avoid the shower of arrows and bolts aimed at him. The positive side was that he would never die, bound to the eternal half-life in the Soul Cairn. Still, Aislinn could not help but feel a little sorry for the cursed reptile who had been banished to such a cold, dreadful place.

One of the three elves who remained alive cracked a rotstone and the familiar white mist spread around the place. He had put himself in a great disadvantage by doing that since he could not get a clear shot at the dragon aloft, but even at such a distance, the cursed gem affected Aislinn and she felt numbness spreading in her body. She could feel Brynjolf clinging to her, whispering in her ear, although the words sounded faint and distant.

"Hang in there, lass," he urged.

Durnehviir jerked to the side and it became obvious that Aislinn was not the only one falling victim to the venomous vapors. But the magic of the undead kept him going and another elf fell.

Paarthurnax! Aislinn called desperately, turning away from the outside world and focusing on her mind and soul.

Dovakhiin, he answered calmly. She took a deep breath and a reassuring feeling settled in her heart. He was still there.

Please, help me, she begged.

Everything you need, I have already given to you, Dovakhiin, he replied and his tranquil existence sent a comforting wave down her body. But it still wasn't enough. The old dragon must have sensed it though, for he spoke again. These stones attack your dragon senses, Dovakhiin. To avoid their effects, you must first understand how other creatures differ from the dov. How I differ from them as well. The answer lies within your grasp.

Can't you be more specific? she urged.

It would not help you if I simply explained, he hummed inside her. She sighed and opened her eyes. Durnehviir had fallen back, avoiding the white plague which was slowly dissipating into the air. Only dead bodies were now visible on the road traversing the village and Aislinn assumed that the elves had been vanquished to the last. The dragon landed on the road leading uphill to Solitude and let Aislinn slide down from his back. Her body trembled slightly and Brynjolf put his hand over her shoulders to support her.

It was close to dawn now, the sky slowly turning the color of light purple as the first sunrays slid over the eastern horizon and caressed the snowy mountain peaks and treetops waving slightly in the morning breeze. The last nightingale finished its vigorous song and a steady tweet of a lark replaced it eventually, falling silent every time the undead dragon dared to move.

Aislinn staggered through the village of Dragon Bridge slowly, careful not to slip on the thin layer of frost which spread over the ground as a reminder of the recent battle. Some of the doors were open ajar as the citizens curiously peeked out to see what all the ruckus was about. While Brynjolf went to collect the weapons they had originally come here for, she knocked on one of the doors and a head of a woman with a mop of ruffled blonde hair and sleepy expression in her face appeared in the doorway.

"Lady Aislinn?" she asked hesitantly. "Is that…"

"Yes!" Aislinn cut her off impatiently. "You have to leave the village at once. There are two armies approaching and they will probably meet around here."

"Wait, but the elves…"

"There are no elves left. Listen to me. If you stay, you're all going to get slaughtered. There's going to be a battle."

"But who…"

"Since we are so far in the west, my best guess is the Forsworn. They have been preparing for this encounter for some time. No, they will not spare you, I assure you."

The woman nodded slowly.

"Do tell the others, please," Aislinn urged. "We have to get out of here as soon as possible."

"Lady Aislinn," the woman called to her in a low voice. Aislinn looked at her expectantly. There was a silence and then the woman clasped her hands together in a prayer. "Please, stay safe. We are all behind you."

Aislinn smiled softly. "I will," she said gratefully.

Then she turned around and joined Brynjolf, heading back uphill towards Durnehviir.

"My daughter is waiting for us on the other side," Aislinn informed him while waving to the Karth River. "Will you take us there?"

"I'm afraid I cannot do that, Qahnaarin," the dragon replied.

"Are you running out of time?" she asked.

"That too. But your… daughter, you said, she is the main problem."

"Why would my daughter be a problem?" she inquired furrowing her brows.

"I can feel that Akatosh himself bestowed his blessing upon her. You might not know but this power repels everything that is opposed to creation, the inhabitants of the Soul Cairn included."

"You know something about the power that she wields?" Aislinn whispered with sudden eagerness in her voice.

"Why yes, it is well known to the dovah as it was originally their power. If there was a single dovah willing to serve Akatosh the same way your priests do, maybe he would be granted it anew. In the old times, though, the purifying fire was granted to the Dragonborn. If the words of the younger souls in the Soul Cairn are true, then the emperors of the Septim bloodline used it to protect the Empire, renewing it every time a new Emperor was crowned."

"Wait…" she exhaled and walked a short distance to ease the clump of anxiousness which settled in her chest. "This power… it's the same one that Talos and all his descendants wielded? That's the power which used to be stored in the Amulet of Kings?"

"Most definitely," the dragon nodded slightly.

"My Lucia… my little Lucia… is she…"

"The blood is certainly there," he answered the unfinished question.

"So… how come that I don't have this kind of power?" Aislinn asked and shifted her weight. There was a hint of uneasiness in her voice and she fought the feeling of injustice settling at the back of her mind. What was this? Jealousy over her own daughter? She felt cheated and incomplete. Why would Lucia suddenly be granted power that she, the Dragonborn from the legends, was supposed to wield? Or was she pursuing something that was not hers? Was her destiny fake? Her destiny, which was the only thing that she was sure of… was it just an illusion which misled her and made her stray from her own path? And if she was not the destined Dragonborn, who was she?

She knew that her shaking body gave her away, for she felt Brynjolf come to her side and squeeze her hand firmly.

"That I do not know," Durnehviir replied uncertainly, "but I am sure you will find out in time. I am sure there is a reason for that. Akatosh never does anything without a reason."

"Durnehviir…" she said weakly. "Just who am I?"

"Only you have the answer to that question, Qahnaarin," he breathed slowly. "It is time for me to go. Lok Thu'um, Dovakhiin."

Aislinn watched as flames of violet light engulfed the ragged dragon and sent him back to his dreadful home. She turned to Brynjolf, her face pale as the surrounding snow.

"Brynjolf," she whispered in despair.

"I know," he said softly, though the expression in his face was unreadable.

"My Lucia… my little Lucia…" she stuttered and shook her head in denial. "She's a Dragonborn."

All right. I think the story is developing pretty nicely. And the irony of it all – you, the readers, are slowly but surely getting to know the characters in the story… all except the main protagonist. But do not be afraid, you will find who she is in time. In the meantime, you can take a guess and place your bets. :D

Funny thing – I started playing Skyrim all over again as a mage (I played it only once before and my character – surprisingly enough named Aislinn – was a swordswoman with a double sword style; well, of course I would pick this style since I am a big fan of Drizzt Do'Urden :D) to try a new playstyle and also review some of the things from the story. When I got to High Hrothgar, I had the Greybeards teach me some stuff and it didn't even take me a whole in-game hour. Then I was talking to Arngeir and he told me something about "normal people having to spend years mastering the things I have learnt here in just a few days". I had to laugh to myself since it seems that the time really doesn't matter at all in the game. Suddenly, an hour turned into a few days.
The reason I'm talking about this – you might have noticed that it took Brynjolf quite some time to reach Solitude from Shor's Stone. It also took our main protagonists several days to travel from Riften to Markarth. If you ride Shadowmere and take the longest route possible, which would probably be from Solitude to Riften, it doesn't even take one in-game day to complete the journey. Since Skyrim would seem like an unbelievably tiny country if it really was like that, I made it a little larger and more believable. I know I'm not exactly sticking to the game, but then again, it's just a game. The characters don't even need to sleep there and seriously, I wouldn't be able to write a story with this sort of inhuman protagonists. :D

By the way, did you know that listening to Within Temptation can be quite inspirational if you write a fantasy story? Do try it. ;)

As always, thanks for all the reviews, favs and follows. By the way, FF-net is really trying hard to crush my motivation. The visits counter stopped working so now it seems that no-one reads the story at all. That said, thanks to Twillin for reminding me that there is always at least one loyal reader out there. Thanks to her I know that the {cake} counter is a lie. (Yeah, this system doesn't support strikethrough text... meh... :P)

Stay tuned. ;)

Mirwen