The Dragonborn stopped faking most of her limp when they got out of sight of the city guards, only picking it back up from a small uneven pace to a leaning drag supported with her staff when a merchant's carriage rumbled into view. She didn't seem to care if farmers noticed her faking, and she mentioned something about looking like any old travelers when he asked. And Ulfric supposed they did, to some degree, even if his ebony armor was more than visible under a long cloak.
She finally led them off the road and down a deer trail, chest high grass marking either side of the trampled path. Well, chest high for him. The Dragonborn likely couldn't see very far over it, but she didn't seem particularly concerned as she followed the trail with her head down for a time. Ulfric didn't much like the noise of animals scurrying through the plains. He was well aware of sabre cats, bears, all of those nasty things that only jumped out of caves in Eastmarch that could be lurking not a foot away in Whiterun.
The grass cleared around a small crop of stones, a mockery of a hill only a bit higher than the grass, but still the only high point for probably an hour's march through the plains. She tossed her bag to the ground-Ulfric winced when he heard the clanging of armor and the Jagged Crown inside-laid her staff beside it, and scrambled to the top. She looked around, calling down, "I don't see anyone. Guess we're not important enough to follow." She slid back down, grabbing her staff and planting it firmly on the ground to steady herself. "Catch me if I fall, alright?"
Ulfric wondered to himself if he could call a dragon as she inhaled once, twice, each a little too shaky and shallow for what he would allow himself to follow with a Shout, and then wondered if Odahviing would care to respect his call or just swoop down and swallow him whole. He stepped a bit closer, just enough to rush over and grab her if the Dragonborn looked ready to fall forwards and bust her head open on the stones.
"Odahviing!" Despite her sub-par breathing, the Dragonborn's Shout left his ears ringing as he watched her knees buckle beneath her. She went down straight, catching herself on her elbow in the dirt, staff slamming against the rocks, chest heaving with every breath. A distant roar sounded from all around, echoing on the plains. Ulfric stood behind her, wondering if he should offer a hand to help her up or if she would just swat it away. He decided there was no harm in trying and bent down to help her up. She stood up on her own as if she didn't notice him.
She stood swaying slightly in one place, leaning far too heavily on her staff. Ulfric stepped closer as the echoing roar dispersed into the powerful beating sounds of Odahviing's wings, sounding alone. No army this time, at least not yet. He held one hand up to block the sun, watching the dragon speed past Whiterun's distant silhouette on the plains, ever closer, wind rising as he grew close and hovered over the rock, preparing to land.
Ulfric carefully caught the Dragonborn by her back when she threatened to sway a bit too far off her feet; she stumbled back to a steadier stance with her feet awkwardly far apart. "Drem yol lok," Odahviing grumbled, settling on the pile of stones. It was too small for his massive body, and he eventually settled on a strange lean with one wing extended and crushing the grass. His head towered over them, casting a shadow that graciously blocked most of the sun's glare off his scales. "I see no battle. Yet you call for assistance."
"We're flying somewhere," the Dragonborn said, suddenly standing tall. She crossed one arm over her torso and clutched at her ribs.
"We," Odahviing repeated. Deep golden eyes turned to him. Ulfric understood why deer sometimes froze when they noticed an archer with an arrow nocked. "Wo daar joor? Who is this…mortal?"
"He's travelling with me," she said. "You might recognize him as one of the mortals who helped me capture you. So watch your tongue."
"Pah joor balaana Dovah."
All mortals are worthless to me, Ulfric translated to himself. He narrowed his eyes to stare back into the endless, timeless glance of Odahviing. This was only a fleeting sliver of his immortal life; no wonder he had no issues serving the Dragonborn. The Dragonborn furrowed her brow, and Ulfric wasn't sure if it was because she had no idea what Odahviing had said, or because she was troubled by what he said. "Hi los ko zaamhus wah aan joor," Ulfric responded. "Daar tinvak dol balaaniil, sahrot Dovah?" (And yet you serve a mortal. What does that say about your own worth, mighty dragon?)
Odahviing growled low in his chest. "Zu'u gro Thuri nal zin. Joor aam nal sil." (I am bound to my lord by honor. Mortals serve by their nature.)
"Alright!" The Dragonborn cut in, swiping through their conversation with a sharp thud, banging her staff against the ground. She had the same look on her face Ulfric had seen at parties and meetings when one person was suddenly cut out of conversation when the language switched. She hadn't had a clue what they were saying, even though he'd heard her speak perfect Dov before on the Porch, even though she Shouted with flawless pronunciation. "We're heading north. I'll tell you when to land."
"Ah. I forget that the Old One never taught you Dov," Odahviing sneered, lowering his neck. "My apologies, Thuri. Brom-north, we will fly."
And north they did fly, well above the clouds with wind freezing him inside his armor. Ulfric kept one hand tugging his cloak's hood over his ears, the other clasped firmly to a spiky scale, feet pressed firmly against scales behind him. He sat kneeling between Odahviing's wings, not looking down as they soared over Skyrim. It was surreal, the air whipping past him, knowing that only birds and dragons ever got to experience this unique form of fear-no, creatures with wings had no reason to fear the ground far beneath them. This was much worse than when he accidentally flew on the first dragon he'd ever fought; this was a choice. He'd chosen to climb on the back of a dragon and let it fly off with him only secured as far as his fingers could hold.
It was a smooth ride, for the most part. Odahviing flew more like an eagle than a finch, his wings were solid, steady, rarely flapping as he kept in the same direction. The Dragonborn seemed almost lax in her position further up, astride his neck like it was an oversized horse. A quick banked left turn had him abandoning his hood in favor of keeping himself upright. "We're about a third of the way there!" The Dragonborn turned at her waist and shouted back at him. Her words were almost lost in the wind. "We really only needed to head west, but I couldn't risk any Thalmor following us!"
"You said it was impossible to get to the Blades by ground! Why would you be worried about them following?" Ulfric shouted back. He wiped blood from his hands on a smooth section of Odahviing's scales. What he wouldn't give to have proper leather gloves, rather than thin wool ones protecting his hands.
"What?"
"You said we couldn't get there on foot! I thought the Thalmor couldn't follow us there!"
"I said it was difficult!"
"You just didn't want to take a horse, did you?"
"I sent the horses ahead to Solitude!"
Ulfric shook his head and waved the conversation away. The wind helped carry her words to him, his words were ripped from his mouth and left in the sky behind them both. It'd be no use to even attempt to speak to her until they were safely landed. Or, Ulfric supposed landing at all would be a blessing in his current situation. Men weren't given wings for a reason.
West, a little north. The Blades were hidden somewhere in the Druadach Mountains, probably in the Reach, maybe as far as High Rock, since the Dragonborn wanted to fly there. And he didn't half blame her; the Druadachs, and the entire damned Reach as a whole, was a huge deathtrap of canyons and avalanches and bears and Forsworn. The perfect place for someone to disappear in without a trace, either on purpose or from a tiny misstep on a weak cliff face.
They finally descended after hours of flying, through a thick cloud that moistened Ulfric's wind-chapped face with dew that was too close to freezing to be called soothing. And from around Odahviing's massive head, Ulfric saw the barest bit of an obviously Akaviri temple, it's distinct roof mimicking the sharp peaks of the mountains it was built into. He sighed with relief, adjusting his grip for what felt like the thousandth time, shifting his weight on his knees to relieve the pressure on one of them, hopefully for the last time. Only a minute or two more and he wouldn't have to worry about falling to his death again. Until the Dragonborn decided to fly to Solitude, or wherever else.
His grip tightened as the gentle descent jerked into a rapid turn, up, left, right, up. An arrow whizzed through Odahviing's wing, past Ulfric's head close enough that he could've grabbed it. Odahviing roared and pumped his wings, moving the scales Ulfric was clinging to, nearly crushing his fingers with the flex of muscles, skin, scales. The Dragonborn screeched ahead of him, words garbled by yelling below, by Odahviing's roars, by his blood pumping past his ears.
"Feim, zii gron!" The Dragonborn Shouted, standing up on Odahviing's neck. She threw herself from the rising dragon as if she was diving into a lake, and Ulfric wished he had time to ask what in Oblivion she thought she was doing. He looked behind him, seeing her tumble through the air to the temple below, barely missing Odahviing's spiked tail. A small crowd of people were below, growing smaller by the second as Odahviing flew higher and higher, sending another barrage of arrows up at them.
Odahviing howled as they found gaps between his scales. One hit Ulfric in the back with enough force he was sure it dented his armor. He held on, pressing himself down to Odahviing's back and prayed to every Divine to let him live just long enough to have the opportunity to tell the Dragonborn he told her so. Odahviing leveled out, Ulfric held on tighter, feeling the slight downturn in his path, hearing him curse in the ancient tongue of his kind. Circling down, down, until they glided to a stop on the stone courtyard.
Ulfric picked himself up, staying on Odahviing and checking his surroundings. The Dragonborn waved at him with a hand he could swear he could see through, a scowl already crossing her face. A handful of Blades in mismatched armor surrounded them, weapons almost lowered out of a guard, focused more on the Dragonborn than the dragon in the courtyard. The Dragonborn waved again, more violently this time, other hand moving to a hilt at her waist and Ulfric realized she was calling him over.
He climbed down from Odahviing, half sliding, half catching himself on sharp scale spikes, meeting eyes with the odd selection of a dozen Nords, Bretons, Imperials wielding Akaviri weapons, wearing fur, hide, steel armor, the odd piece of Elven or Orcish or ebony make here and there. He stumbled to his knees, catching himself on the heels of his hands, legs weak from staying in the same position for hours, stomach churning like he was a young sailor in his first storm.
Standing was a chore, and Odahviing's low growl echoed in his chest, heavier with every shaky step he tried to mask as he moved towards the Dragonborn. And it suddenly hit him that she was speaking, her mouth moving in a flurry as she gesticulated with the hand not threatening to draw a sword, directed at the older Breton woman raging at her, at Odahviing, an Akaviri sword held steady in both hands. Their words melded together with the fading echo of the wind swirling inside his head.
"…no idea…dragons are plotting…millions have been murdered by them and…", the woman yelled, her speaking over and in tandem with the Dragonborn.
"…done playing Blademaster! You complete…revenge for a faction you barely even…," The Dragonborn shouted right back, Ulfric's hearing half returning, her chest heaving with every word. "…before I make you!"
"…Thalmor have resurrected them, damn the Elder Scrolls, and you lead one of their dragons here?"
"It was my blood that got you here in the first place, Delphine! The Thalmor have nothing to do with this. I'm making changes around here, and you're either moving out of my way on your own or I'll slay you like I did Alduin!" That sent ripples through the assembled Blades, catching a pair running out of the Temple in their tracks. Weapons faltered, grips relaxed and tensed up again, waiting. Ulfric stopped and took a defensive stance just beyond where Odahviing could lean forwards and swallow him, just behind the Dragonborn.
"You bitch!" Delphine spit at the Dragonborn's feet. "Blades, slay the dragon!" And the Blades raised weapons to the ready, aiming them at Odahviing, but not one moved to attack with the vicious looking swords half of them held, or to release a dripping arrow.
Odahviing laughed behind him, snorting with heavy warm breath. "Daar los sahrot Bruniikke? Koraavi mul kal dii Dovahkriid nikriin faas." (These are the remnants of the mighty Dragonguard? Look how the descendants of my slayers cower in fear.) Still, he slowly backed up until his legs were out of the courtyard, over the edge of the cliff, the rest of his massive body resting just off the stones. Ulfric looked around, noticing more than just fear in the eyes of the Blades. Fear, confusion, uncertainty, not a single one of them wanted to be the first to make the next move.
A knot tied in his stomach-Torygg's personal guard had the same look when he accepted his final duel, drew his sword only to drop it with cold hands after barely getting the chance to swing. Ulfric bit his tongue until he tasted blood.
"The dragon serves me," the Dragonborn responded all too breathlessly, her swords halfway out of their sheathes. "Take note; you're not fit to be Grandmaster. Blades, it's about time we went back to our roots as the Dragonguard, followers of the Dragonborn. 'We were not hunting dragons, we were searching for a Dragonborn.'" She finished drawing her swords and turned to address the Blades. Delphine-the Grandmaster of the Blades-twitched, Ulfric watched her stare down the Dragonborn's back, her eyes fixated on the staff secured there. "Who among you is tired of the endless hunts? How many siblings in arms have fallen needlessly? I offer a more noble option, one for the Blades to return to the nobility of the era of Dragonborn Emperors, Reman and Septim."
Delphine lunged, taking her sword in both hands. Ulfric's body reacted before his mind, his shoulder slammed into the Dragonborn. She hit the ground with a soft thud of all flesh and robes, no armor. And Delphine's sword cut into his simple cloak, slicing wool, catching his left bracer with a teeth-grating cling as he guarded his abdomen against her.
Ulfric drew his sword, meeting Delphine's wild, bright, furious blue eyes below him. A yell, powerful wings, strong wind came from behind him, a harsh laugh from the Dragonborn beside him as she pulled herself up to stand with a wince of pain. Delphine pulled back, daring a glance up at Odahviing, flying away with a triumphant Shout, "Wuld Nah Kest!" and all sounds ceased.
It was silent for one second, two breaths, three heartbeats, some distant eagle cried. "You let him get away," Delphine stated flatly. She pulled her sword back with too much speed, too much vigor, thrusting it towards Ulfric like it was a dagger and not a three-foot long blade. He twisted out of the way, letting it pierce the space he'd just been standing, wondering if the dark metal could stab through the chinks in his armor like the Akaviri-like the Dragonguard weapons of legend.
He caught his sword underneath hers, catching the strange curved blade on his. Ulfric stepped in far too close to parry the blade, his reach more than made up for the difference. And that mistake cost him; Delphine drew a dagger with her off hand and swiped down low towards his thighs, catching on the metal of his cuisses and then the leather of his pants, slicing through to cut skin.
The wound on his left thigh stung, then throbbed, then burned, even through the adrenaline of battle as the blade was angled, serrated just so to separate skin from muscle. Ulfric cried out in pain, barely catching her next sword swing before it crashed down on his shoulder guard, bouncing on his blade but still nicking his plate armor, deflecting uselessly. He stepped back, seeing the Dragonborn finally standing and retrieving her swords out of the corner of his eye.
Delphine ducked under his sword easily; she was too short for him to fight without stooping down to meet her aggressive bend towards his legs; she could see he couldn't easily guard low, not that it usually mattered, except against a Breton woman, already short for her race. The way she ducked almost reminded her of Aela in the wrestling pits, but Delphine was less feral in her attacks, more…desperate. A style common in the Reach, a frenzy of improvised weapons, tiny Bretons dodging and weaving to make up for lackluster strength. Ulfric let her sword slide against his chest plate as he moved to sweep her feet out from under her with his sword. She caught herself on her arm, grip still tightened around her weapons, already twisting herself to leap back up.
Ulfric braced himself to dodge or return an attack, but Delphine turned to her left at the last second, crossing her arms over her to catch an attack from the Dragonborn, slicing down from overhead with one sword. The Dragonborn followed with a high swipe from her second sword, obviously aiming for Delphine's neck, connecting with a quick-raised leather bracer. She pulled back, blood pouring from a gash in Delphine's bracer in short spurts.
The Dragonborn's breaths were quick and heavy, sweat beading on her face and catching on the neck of her College robes. Delphine took a guard, backing up a jump and a step, eyeing between the two of them as Ulfric raised his sword surely where the Dragonborn's arms just barely trembled. "Paarthurnax's teachings at work, eh, Graybeard?" Delphine sneered at him. She turned to the Dragonborn, "Some bullshit you fed Uthgerd."
"You'll never get the vengeance you crave," the Dragonborn huffed back. "Not without me." The Blades had all but forgotten the weapons they held, staring wordlessly at the brawl, watching with chewed lips, clenched fists.
"I'll never work with you rot of a Thalmor." Delphine stared at him, spat at him-was she calling him a Thalmor, of all things?-raised her blades and lunged at him. Ulfric countered, Delphine stumbling, deflecting his attack and moving in close, her eyes fixed on the gaps in his armor plates. She dodged just out of reach as he grasped for her with his free hand, his fingers catching air, almost scraping a buckle along her arm.
The Dragonborn stepped behind her, bringing her swords across too slow to be called a proper attack; her blades missed Delphine, her body jolting forwards to stab hard towards Ulfric. He prayed her attack would miss anything important, and brought down his sword. He let her momentum carry her towards him, connecting with his torso, glancing off, Ulfric's own sword missing his target of the space between her neck and collarbone. Instead, his blade caught beyond her pauldron, sliding down inside her rerebrace.
Flesh split along her arm down to her elbow, likely deep to the bone, Ulfric's sword stuck inside Delphine's armor, hilt standing beside her face like a flagpole. He stumbled back as Delphine dropped her sword and cringed in pain, mouth open not with a scream, but a whimpering groan that made more than one Blade shiver. The Dragonborn's swords crept their way around her neck, pressing just hard enough that twin trickles of blood formed.
"I'll offer mercy," the Dragonborn said. Delphine plunged her dagger behind her, burying it in the Dragonborn's stomach. She wailed, catching the noise in her throat and choking on it briefly, slicing her swords across Delphine's neck and letting the woman collapse in a gurgling, dying heap.