[A/N]: Hey everyone - I hope you've been enjoying the twists and turns and characters of D:SW so far! Speaking of the latter, it's time to introduce quite possibly my most favourite one...

CHAPTER EIGHT

~THE SERPENT'S RIGHT FANG AS IT PIERCES THE EYE ~

Solen had taken to the skies of Tamriel a few times across his life, but this was the first occasion where he'd been under the Dragon. There was nothing more disorienting than the sensation of falling the wrong way. He watched the ground under his feet shrink out of sight, obscured in the soggy, frigid clouds as his snatcher bore him higher and higher on churning wings, rumbling and humming for what passed as laughter.

Solen had been involved in enough Dragon attacks on mortals to know he had seconds to free himself or be dropped to his death. The talons pinned his arms tight against him, and no amount of wriggling would get him free of the grasping footclaws, but his head was mobile, and he had a great deal of fury to channel into the Thu'um. He glared above him to the Dragon's softer underside. "YOL!"

This was no greeting – this was a scorching hot blast of flame against the Dragon's underscales that got its attention with a shrieking yelp. The talons slackened just enough for Solen to wrench an arm from their grasp. The Dragon's upward ascent faltered as it struggled to reclaim its grip. "BUS!" Solen barked, then swore. Why did so many Words of Power rely on F? "YOL!" A second blast of flame stunned the Dragon again. Solen finally pulled himself loose of the faltering talons and fell to earth.

Then he realized he'd better relearn how to say F very fast or he was very much dead all the same. He had no idea how high he'd been scooped, so thick was the obscuring cloud and whirling snow, but the answer was high enough when he failed to hit a snowbank within three seconds of the fall. "Beim – Beim – Fffbeim – Fbeim! BEIM! FEIM!"

Just in time. No sooner did the Shout's magic grip him, rendering him spiritlike and invulnerable to all harm, when the unyielding ground manifested under him. He bounced off the flat, hard sheet of snow, and kept bouncing – off trees, boulders, head over heels down the mountain slope, in a dizzying spiral of chaos. He glimpsed a large pine trunk rising up in his path to arrest his momentum, and two seconds before he hit it the Shout wore off. He collided with enough force to shake every branch in the tree. It was like being hit by a mammoth. He slumped dazed and completely winded, head ringing like a bell, trying to remember how to breathe.

His neck ached. Consciousness was resigning in protest. Solen's eyes slid shut as he drifted. This is not my day...

"You're not dead, Dovahkiin."

The Dragon's words, ironically, pulled Solen from the haze of tempting, fatal sleep. All his bodily aches and pains came rushing in to remind themselves, but Solen's warrior blood was back up, and every hurt only told him that he was still alive.

"You don't sound disappointed," he fired back, jerking fully awake. Finally, a bit of luck; the collision with the tree had jolted his broken nose back in the right direction. At the expense of disjointing what felt like everything else. Solen winced, pulled faces, spat blood, and peeled himself off the tree trunk. He'd left a sizeable dent, but at least his brains were still inside his skull. Solen groped for his helmet and pulled it off his pounding head. Breath by breath, the world realigned into focus, and he negotiated his way back to standing.

Wiping the fresh blood pouring from his nose, Solen staggered out from under the pines and into the open. There was still a Dragon lurking somewhere about, after all. He drew Eldródr and tensed, expecting the brute to come pouncing over the pines. "Well?" he shouted into the night. "You got my attention."

The Dragon didn't reappear in the open. Solen heard it moving around him, creaking the pines. Branches crackled. Big ones, by the splintering. Its soft laughter was almost missed beneath the wind. "Shall we play, Dovahkiin?"

"Play? Oof!" Solen was knocked flat from behind. He glimpsed the wide, leaf-shaped fan on the end of its tail pass over his head as it vanished into the darkness. Blood Dragon. One of the weaker subtypes, and by his estimation one of the most cunning. "All right," Solen grunted, picking himself up. "Let's have some fun."

If he could keep it talking, hear where it was coming from – but what was the wind heaving the trees, and what was the Dragon's bulk prowling through them?

Stop the wind then, dummy, said the internal voice of common sense. "Vah," Solen tested, relieved that he finally could pronounce the damn Word, then bellowed to the sky, "LOK VAH KOOR!"

At last, the colourless ever-expanding funnel of power erupted into the sky, blasting back the storm, killing the wind and the falling snow. Stars glowed down from a velvet sky, and the hillside grew misty-blue in Secunda's moonlight.

"Very clever, Dovahkiin." The Dragon's voice was a low, melodic hum in the becalmed night. "But not enough to find me."

Solen whipped around as the bristling tip of a pine was snapped off its stalk and came crashing to the ground. Where was the blasted creature?

Use the seeking Shout, then, dummy.

Give me a break, I've had two concussions. "LAAS YAH NIR."

A flicker of red among the trees – a big flicker. Solen pretended not to notice it, but kept his good eye trained on it. He watched it circle around slowly, prowling out from the cluster of pines to crawl up a snowbound rock face – except where was it? He saw the life-aura but where was its body? Surely it couldn't be completely –

Solen went sprawling again as the Dragon's cone of force knocked him flat. It laughed as it went slithering back into the cover of the trees. Solen lay on the ground staring at the sky, wondering how his night was going to get worse, now that his disoriented self was fighting an invisible Dragon.

And then he realized something else. I didn't hear the Dragon Shout. Tall Papa, I'm hallucinating.

You don't hallucinate an Unrelenting Force Shout, dummy.

"Come on, Dovahkiin," chirred the creature. "I heard you were great fun."

"Great fun?" Solen gasped, picking himself off the ground again. "If you like – nng – your soul being ripped – ngh! – from the currents of Time, then yeah – I've been told I'm a hoot." He trained his hearing on the forest. Dragons were gabby creatures by nature, he'd track it down with his ears if not his eyes. "You got a name, Dragon?"

"Of course," it said, "but you aren't worthy of it yet." The voice came from the pines in front of him, and Solen drew breath to show it what Unrelenting Force really looked like, when suddenly it said from behind him, "We haven't even started." Then, from his left elbow. "Show me what you can do. I want to see." Solen spun and swiped respectively, but Eldródr hit nothing.

An invisible Dragon that also knew how to throw its Voice. This was shaping up into a very bizarre and frustrating encounter. Solen stood in the open, cudgelling his brain for a solution, as Eldródr swung an unanswered challenge into the night. A Dragon that refused to fight in the open, that was a first. He'd put himself in an ideal situation to be attacked, ready and willing to test his Thu'um against the beast's, as the Dragons that attacked him always wanted; but still it was hiding, toying with him like some overgrown cat – and by the sounds of it, wholly for its own amusement.

Well, Solen had had enough of being ambushed and tossed about. Standing around drawing circles in his makeshift clearing was clearly not getting him anywhere with the cunning brute. If the Dragon wasn't going to fight like a warrior, then he wouldn't fight like a warrior, either. "All right," Solen said. "I'll show you."

"Find me, Dovahkiin." Crackling, crashing branches. A massive one the girth of a Nord's torso came flying over the treetops and landed a few yards from where Solen stood. "You can't, can you? All you know is open slaughter."

Solen walked slowly beneath the trees. "I'll admit you're a different creature, Dragon," he mused aloud. "Not like the others I've slain. Charging in. Thundering Thu'um. Throwing their weight around."

Another soft, musical laugh. "That's why they are dead, Dovahkiin."

"I can promise you won't be much better off if you keep this up." The Dragon's prancing through the canopies had carpeted the snowy soil with pine needles and branches. Solen sifted his boots gently and soundlessly through the rustling detritus and put his back beneath a slender pine trunk. "Here you are, tempting Oblivion. If you want me dead, you'd best get on with it. I'm not going anywhere."

"Are you finally playing, Dovahkiin?"

"Yeah. Absolutely." Solen crouched on the balls of his feet, greatsword poised loosely on his back. "Find me, surprise me, and you win the game."

"What do I win, Dovahkiin?"

"You get to take me flying again. And I won't say a Word."

Another laugh. "Oh, yes. A dovah without wings is no dovah."

This time, Solen held his tongue. He waited, and he listened. Eyes were easily fooled, but a pair of well-trained ears asked more questions. The pines creaked as the Dragon's bulk slithered through them. The soft pad of snow. No hard definitive crunch of an unpractised step; this was an experienced stealth predator. Wise enough to know that Solen had chosen his hiding place deliberately. No amount of Voice-throwing or invisibility would conceal pine needles shifting against stark white snow. As for the pine tree Solen had chosen, it was not intended as protection. If the Dragon touched it, he'd feel every tremor whipping under the bark.

Solen plucked a pine needle and let the breeze tug it from his fingers, watched the way it spiralled gently to earth. The wind still blew from behind. Good. Because the air was growing increasingly frigid. Soft white mist puffed from Solen's mouth with every slow, measured breath. The pines had stopped creaking. His foe was on the ground, stalking...

He felt the softest tremor – something had ever so gently nudged the tree. Solen's grip slowly tightened around Eldródr's hilt. Then the first noiseless puff of vapour slithered around the trunk.

Solen sprang around and out of hiding. Eldródr sang into the icy air in a great thrusting sweep. The tip came away red.

A drop of blood slithered out of thin air and plopped on the snow. Solen smirked. "Surprise."

The Dragon melted into visibility in front of him. It was the most remarkable thing Solen had ever witnessed. It was as if every one of the Dragon's scales had flipped itself inside out in a satisfying water-like ripple, starting from the tip of its slashed snout to the end of its leaf-bladed tail. It was smaller than Solen had expected, smaller even than its Blood cousins, with long quivering frills along its head, tail and spine, and enormous green eyes with the horizontal pupils turned round and black in the night.

"I never said what I won if I surprised you," Solen said.

"My soul, I expect," the Dragon replied, in a very small voice.

"I'd prefer your name," said Solen.

It hesitated. Solen knew why. Mortals introduced themselves as a sign of courtesy; Dragons revealed their names only to those whom they thought deserved it. A Dragon's name was a Shout of its own and a bond on its soul. It defined them within and without. It could be given as an oath of allegiance to an equal, or yielded as a prize by the vanquished to the victor, or (in the case of the most confident Dragons) flaunted as a boast of power. All in all, it was something precious, and for the vast majority of Dragons, something not given lightly.

But Solen had won the game, and thus he was rewarded. "Fiir Nar Aan."

"Fiirnaraan," Solen repeated. As far as Dragon names went, that one was rather elegant. He adjusted his grip on Eldródr's hilt. "Now, Fiirnaraan, I expect you're wondering how this night is going to end."

"I sense you do not want to play anymore," the Dragon said.

"You'd be correct."

A stiff, awkward sort of silence settled between them. "Aren't you going to kill me?"

"Aren't you going to fight back?"

Fiirnaraan blinked his viridescent eyes. "You don't wish my soul?"

"I wish for a lot of things," said Solen, "self-recharging weapon enchantments and waterproof armour chief among them. At this point in time, Dragon souls are rather low on the list. I've got plenty. Don't mistake that for complacency. I don't like eating greens with my steak, but I still eat them if I think they're going to snatch me off a mountainside and play Bounce the Dragonborn off the bloody rock face."

Fiirnaraan released a quick exhale. "No more trouble," he promised.

Solen slowly lowered Eldródr. Moving just as slowly, and a little wonderingly, Fiirnaraan withdrew his head and licked at his laid-open nose. "You're a different cut of cloth, aren't you?" Solen asked eventually.

Fiirnaraan's head-frills quivered like a bird's wings. "Oh, yes. I like to think so. So are you, Dovahkiin. You are not what I was expecting."

"What were you expecting? You mind if I sit down? Kind of freezing to death here. Thanks." Solen eased himself onto the pine's bulging tree roots and wrapped himself in his snow-damp cloak. Which would probably only make him colder, but at least it kept the wind out.

"I anticipated the bane of Alduin to be... eager to prove his Thu'um." Fiirnaraan settled himself across from Solen on a half-felled pine and wrapped his green-black body around the snowy trunk like a giant serpent, vapour puffing from his nostrils. "Now I admit curiosity. Does the Dovahkiin not take satisfaction in killing the dov?"

"There is satisfaction, don't get me wrong. There's no sensation in Tamriel that compares to absorbing a Dragon's soul, except maybe when my wife gets creative in bed. But do I see a Dragon and immediately want to destroy it? Not unless they deserve it. And I don't think you do. A Dragon of your talents has had plenty of opportunity to make off with a Dawnguard or two in the night, but you've only been sticking to their sheep. You are the Dragon from the Canyon, aren't you? The one giving Isran a headache?"

Solen had never had a chance to speak face to face with a Blood Dragon before, anything that went beyond combat Thu'um at least, and he was enjoying the myriad of ways the fleshy frills on the Dragon's head flared and quivered with his expressions. "Vahzah," Fiirnaraan replied, and he seemed proud to be recognized. "I was not taking the sheep to frighten your Dawnguard. I was hungry. And I like my Canyon. No one else had claimed it before the smoky mortal entered my valley and denned in the old stone towers."

"Yet here you are, sitting with a beat-up Dragonborn in a pine forest on a mountainside halfway across Skyrim." Solen packed some snow and pine needles into a rudimentary compress and pressed it against his puffy eye.

"I was curious," said Fiirnaraan, tilting his head. "I had not seen you before."

"That makes two of us." Solen furrowed his brow. "That thing you can do – go invisible – how? I know Blood Dragons are good at the whole camouflaging thing, but that was something else."

"Simple, Dovahkiin. I ask and I answer."

Solen stared. "You're not telling me that's Thu'um."

"Oh, yes. What else?" Fiirnaraan's scales rippled like water, and he vanished on the spot. Looking carefully, Solen realized it wasn't total invisibility, the light bent a little strangely around the concealed body; but such detail was easily missed in the chaos of battle, or by someone not looking especially hard.

"But you didn't say a thing," Solen protested, a little indignantly. "You have to Shout to use the Voice..."

"Ahh, Dovahkiin." Fiirnaraan rippled back into view, all his frills flared wide. "You are Thuri, first Voice – surely you know that one does not need to Shout to hear the Word within."

"Well, yeah, that's how you learn them, but using them –" Solen stopped. Repeated his encounter in his mind. The silent Force. He faced Fiirnaraan anew. "You're telling me that you can Shout without actually Shouting?"

"Precisely, Dovahkiin." Smug again. There was no mistaking when Fiirnaraan was smug. "There are no limits to the potential of Thu'um. The Word is within already. You Shout from Bormahu, the great Dragon-Father, as we do. The Word comes from Him. The Power, from Him. It exists already. To Shout gives the Power a shape for the mind to cling to. But when you do not need to persuade a mind to recognize the Power, then the Word no longer needs a shape. Gein tiinvak voth nahlot. One speaks with silence."

Fiirnaraan rocked back on his talons, his pine perch creaking ominously beneath his weight. "It is a concept my brothers do not understand. To them, victory is found by the biggest and loudest. But I was never going to match them in battle. Bormahu shaped me small and cunning, to whisper in shadows and exist unseen. Eyes to see in the blackest night, ears to hear the softest breath. I shaped my Thu'um to match."

He peered intently at Solen. "What do you think of that, Dovahkiin? You are quiet, now."

Because Solen felt the chill of the night sinking its teeth deeper into him every second. He was impressed, of course, very much so, even slightly jealous, but being cold had a way of numbing you to even the most extraordinary things. "It's exceptional," Solen said, trying not to let his teeth chatter, "and I see why you'd take pride in it, but I don't suppose you might like to consider a fire?"

Fiirnaraan graciously obliged, and set about dragging some pine detritus into a heap. Solen was little help. His wet cloak and armour had frozen stiffly against him during their conversation, and his limbs were numb and clumsy. He did ignite the heap of branches, as it seemed Fiirnaraan could not – "My fire burns only within, Dovahkiin, not without." – and soon the pair of them were crouched in front of a roaring bonfire, which staved the frigid lung-scorching chill and soon had Solen thawing out. "Does your flame not burn within also?" inquired Fiirnaraan, watching the Altmer stamping life back into his feet.

"Not very well." Solen smiled brightly up at him. "Mortal limitations, not Thu'um."

"Mortals fascinate me, to some end," said Fiirnaraan contemplatively. "So little they have in common with the dov."

"You're not so different from this mortal." Solen rubbed his hands together and bared them in front of the golden glow. "You're a hunter. You take pleasure in a quiet, clean kill, a warm burrow, and a full-fed stomach. In that regard, we're not unalike. And just like me, Isran also finds you a pain in the arse."

Isran. Solen felt a candle ignite in his brain. "Isran still wants you dead, you know. He hates you stealing his sheep."

"The smoky mortal dislikes that he cannot see me."

"Well, what if we changed that? The Dawnguard's not leaving the Canyon and you aren't relocating. What if we came to an agreement?"

"Agreement?" Fiirnaraan tilted his head horizontal. "What would that entail?"

"Your skillset and your... y'know, wings, they put you in a very ideal position for us to use."

"Use?" Fiirnaraan bared his fangs. "I do not intend to be used."

"Sorry, wrong word – uhh, think of it like a transaction."

Solen had made a negotiation with a Dragon only once in his life, and the key was to figure out and use the Dragon's language. Odahviing had been motivated by battle. Any talk that drifted away from prospective bloodshed, maiming and general destruction lost his attention. Solen needed to figure out what could drive Fiirnaraan to become the Dawnguard's prospective new ally. "If you can be our eyes and ears across Skyrim, the Dawnguard can reward you. Keep you fed."

"I can feed myself, Dovahkiin. I am quite good at it."

"I know, I know –"

"The smoky bearded mortal intruded upon my territory."

"That I also know –"

"It is not difficult for me to steal a sheep."

"So you've demonstrated," Solen said quickly, "but this way you'd never have to steal another one."

Fiirnaraan's frills drooped. "But where is the fun? I do not like the sound of arrangements."

Come on, Solen, find his language. "You want amusement? Trust me, we'll give you plenty of fun in exchange."

At last, Solen had Fiirnaraan's attention. The Blood Dragon un-tilted his head and affixed one great green eye on Solen. "Fun?"

"Yeah. Fun. Just the kind of fun you're good at." Finally, he'd landed on the right words. He latched onto the vernacular and ran with it. "Look, clearly you followed us all the way from the Canyon, and I know Blood Dragons have the most absurdly honed senses of all your brethren –" A bit of flattery never hurt. "– did you overhear much about our mission against vampires?"

"Somewhat." The Dragon flicked his tail. "They sound like more boring mortals."

"Oh, they're the most un-boring mortals you'll ever find." Solen strode around the bonfire, adopting a conspiratorial air. "They're immortal, actually. Blood-drinkers. Surprise attackers. They prey on us like you prey on the Dawnguard's sheep." Solen paused and looked around, as if wary of being overheard, then leaned close and whispered, "They can go invisible too."

Fiirnaraan's tail stopped swishing, so rigid had his attention become. "They sound dangerous. Clever."

"Cunning," Solen agreed. "But I doubt they're as cunning as you. They think Dragons are big stupid brutes. Why, I bet you could get right up behind them and they wouldn't even notice. Not that you'd need to get so close to play the game."

"They sound like fun to play with," Fiirnaraan said, his frills aquiver with excitement.

"You want to hear the best part?" said Solen. "They only come out at night."

Fiirnaraan bristled his wings in anticipation of the challenge. "Oh, yes. I like the sound of this game."

"Game – yes – exactly. The best game you'll ever play. Vampires are always playing games too, always scheming and plotting. The Dawnguard want to play them too, but the vampires..." Solen looked around furtively again. "Well, the vampires cheat."

"No!" Fiirnaraan brindled.

"Oh yes," Solen nodded gravely. "They don't want the Dawnguard to know about the games, because then they think they won't win. Selfish gits, if you ask me. If you can change that, we'll always have food waiting for you in Fort Dawnguard."

Fiirnaraan licked his teeth. "Sheep?" he persisted. "I have become partial to the taste of sheep."

"Absolutely. We'll even roast it for you if you want. So, is it a deal?"

"The Canyon remains mine?"

"Of course."

"Geh, Dovahkiin. We have an arrangement."

"Brilliant. Simply brilliant." Solen stepped backwards, hard-pressed to contain his laugh. Isran is going to love this. "Okay. So. I expect you want to hear about your first target."

"Oh, yes." Fiirnaraan arched up on his hind legs, wings flared. His pine tree perch groaned piteously. "Where is the sosvulonah? Where do I begin my search?" Suddenly he went erect – his frills arched forward, and half his body rippled into its perfect camouflage, like a predator poised to hide from approaching prey. "Is it with the mortals coming this way?"

"Mortals?"

"Six of them." The Dragon's green eyes had turned a soft pinky-red. Was he using a silently-spoken Aura Whisper? Solen felt a peculiar mixture of awe and jealousy. "They are making a great deal of noise," he observed.

Solen felt a surge of hope. "Are they looking for something? Someone?"

Fiirnaraan listened again. "One of them sounds very angry."

Solen laughed. "That's gotta be Rayya. My allies, Fiirnaraan – our allies. You should meet them."

"I don't want to meet them." Fiirnaraan grew sulky. "I want to play the game."

"Okay – okay – game first. Plenty of time to meet in Dayspring Canyon. One of our enemies got away from us. Slipped out from that same back entrance I did, and probably started putting as much distance between themselves and the Crypt as possible. They have a powerful artifact of some kind with them. Can you find and follow them? See where they go?"

Fiirnaraan needed no further prompting. His wings unfurled with a tremendous whoosh, and off he soared into the night. Solen stood by the burned-out remains of the bonfire, leeching the last warmth he could from the smouldering embers, until the Dawnguard's shouts finally reached his ears.

They appeared over a snowbank a few minutes later, and the sight of their torches had never been so welcome. "Rayya," Solen exclaimed in relief, jogging forward to meet them; Rayya headed the crew, looking alert as ever. "Rayya, thank the gods you're –" Then he caught her furious expression and raised his hands defensively. "Rayya, I can explain."

"Oh, you'd better! You ran off – alone – after that rogue that bested you? Do you have a death wish, man?!"

"No, of course not – ouch! Rayya, my ear!"

"Look at your face! You couldn't fight a skeever off, let alone a shadow-jumping cutthroat!"

"I'm not helpless ow ow ow!"

"Don't interrupt, Solenarren! This is how I find you, two miles down the mountainside in the dead of night, half-frozen with an eye swelled shut! Did you get the guy? Of course not! You got lost!"

Rayya continued in this vein for several minutes while Irileth and the Dawnguard took extreme interest in their surroundings and Solen intermittently defended himself and begged her to stop twisting his ear. Finally Rayya let go and pulled him into a tight embrace, and Solen felt the guilt flood in. She only grew this fierce when she'd been so worried sick. "I'm fine," he assured her, much more quietly, and squeezed her with all his strength to prove it. "Really, Rayya, I'm all right."

"You promise me here and now," Rayya growled against his chest, "you never run off like that again."

"I promise, Rayya."

"I don't care if you're the gods-damned saviour of the world, you still need someone at your back."

"I know, love."

Irileth cleared her throat, sensing the hostilities had ended. "Too late to climb back up," she said. "We'll camp down here tonight. Start making our way back to Dayspring Canyon in the morning. Solen, sit down and I'll straighten that nose out."

Thoughts returned gloomily to their failed mission, and their losses, as the Dawnguard recruits set about rebuilding a fire and constructing lean-tos against the pines. Only it wasn't completely failed, Solen thought, and he realized that the last hope they had of following up the vampire artifact rested with a Dragon he had only met that night.

And that was, upon reflection, probably the most foolish thing he'd done so far. Paarthurnax, an actual Dragon, had warned Solen once in one of their audiences that it was wise not to trust his kind. It clashed with Solen's better nature, which was to try and see the good in everyone, Dragons included.

But there were exceptions to every rule. And besides, Solen was the foremost expert on Dragon souls. He knew a good one when he saw one.

He hoped.

[A/N]: Did I just introduce a Dragon who can silently Shout and turn invisible into a narrative of shadowy intrigue? Absolutely!

As a bit of trivia - Fiirnaraan isn't a Dragon name with a direct translation, and it mostly took its shape because it flowed nicely off the tongue and on the page. But there are canon Dragons with unclear translations (Numinex, Naaslaarum/Voslaarum), so I like to think that Fiir falls into this category of unknown transcription. The closest known words to his name - Tafiir, Naar, and Aan - mean 'thief', 'summit' and 'slave' respectively, so, creatively interpret 'Fiir Nar Aan' as you will!

Additionally there's no canon draconic word for vampire, so I/Fiirnaraan invented one - sosvulonah (blood night hunter).