The sun is high overhead when I race back into the little hamlet, skidding to a stop in the dust, breathless. There's a few Stormcloaks hanging around outside, one of them sitting on one of the rocks that lines the edge of the garden as he sharpens a war axe.

"Where's Jor?" He asks, getting to his feet. Hopefull, I look like I've run through hell to get here as I gesture, trying to catch my breath as a couple other Stormcloaks nearby abandon their own tasks to come over. I notice Brand is wandering about, close enough to Skjoren that I figure he's being watched closely.

"Fell," I gasp out, as Skjoren joins us. "Landed – on a ledge – can't reach him."

"What are you saying?" Skjoren snaps, shoving one of his men aside as I look up at him. "Where's my son?"

"She's out of breath, Da," the first guy that spoke up, says gently. "Let her catch that first."

"We were trying to get around to the northern falls," I tell them, forcing the words out despite my breathlessness. "He slipped on some shale. Caught himself on a ledge but I think he got knocked out. I can't reach him."

Skjoren is watching me as I talk, and I see his expression shift from concern to confusion, then to anger. He lurches forward, grabbing me roughly by the shoulders.

"You lost him?"

"He fell," I lie again, still trying to catch my breath. I regret running all the way back here from the camp; being able to talk is more important right now than looking believable. "He's on a ledge, but we can get to him. I can show some of your guys—"

"Where?" Skjoren snaps, shaking me so hard I wince.

"Ow— Stop, you're hurting me!"

"And you let my son get hurt!" Skjoren snaps, shaking me again. "Where is he?"

"I can show you!" I cry, grabbing his hands and trying to pull myself free, but his fingers are digging into my arms. Latching on painfully.

"I don't trust you as far as I could throw you," he snarls, his face seemingly transformed. "You tell us, you hear me? I'm not sending you out there with anyone else!"

I'm trying to pull his hands away, trying to recoil or break free, but he's too strong. He's pushed his face right up into mine, shouting so loud that I'm being sprayed with spittle as he shakes me again. I feel my head snap back and forth—

He shoves me and I hit the ground, yelping as I land on the hard stone.

"TELL ME WHERE HE IS!"

Skjoren is furious, more so than I expected. I can see most of the Stormcloaks have moved back, giving him a wide berth, none of them moving to help me. I remember Hadvar's overview of the guy, and realise this probably isn't the first time he's treated someone like this.

"She's lying!" Someone shouts suddenly. I look around to see another Stormcloak approaching, hurriedly climbing over some of the rocks near one of the side paths. He points at me. "Don't believe a word she says! There's Imperials here and she's working with 'em!"

How does he know? I turn to Skjoren, shaking my head as I feel my mouth going dry. "I'm not working with anyone," I tell him, "I swear!"

"Then what did you discuss when their commander had you holed up in his tent?" The scout demands, shoving his way into the circle. "They've got Jorell captive and she's all chummy with the commander. Looks pretty cut and dry to me."

Skjoren rounds on Brand, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and lifting him off his feet. "And you didn't think to tell us there was a contingent of the Legion up here?"

Brand is whimpering as I scramble to my feet. "I-I didn't know if they'd help, there wasn't that many of them when they passed through—"

He turns, tossing Brand to the ground as he goes for his axe, unhooking and raising it in a large swing. I can feel the hilt of my own sword under my hand, hear myself drawing it as I lunge forward—

The jolt nearly breaks bones as I block the axe's strike, feeling the shock already in my hand again as the dragons roar with delight. Finally, a fight!

Skjoren pulls back and swings again, and I dodge this one as he turns on me. I can hear the calls of the Stormcloaks, and I hear the roar I let loose, coming from the dragon souls as I lunge in for Skjoren again—

Pain.

I stagger sideways, the sounds of the world fading. I raise my sword to block Skjoren's next swing, but the axe knocks it from my hands as the world begins to tilt. There's a splitting pain in my side, a sharp pain in my skull, and I vaguely feel myself hit the ground as I stare at the world sideways. I can see Skjoren, as he raises his axe above me—

Red surges forth, engaging the blue so suddenly they are taken by surprise. A delightful view as kin attacks kin, like the chaos of Old. The black and silver one is stained by its own blood. It should not rejoice in the felling of its own kind, but that one was dangerous. Now, with the challenger felled, it can join the battle below.

I hear shouting, screams, battle cries as someone surges forth, tackles Skjoren aside. His axe lands in front of me, next to Brand, who snatches it up as he looks around wildly. He dives for me, but I don't feel his hands as he rolls me onto my back. Intense cold. I hear a high-pitched roar, a joyful challenge, as a familiar shadow swoops low overhead and an icy jet blasts the ground nearby.

Red move fast, but the blue fall easily under the icy shards. It sweeps low, following the edges of the cliffs up again, before pivoting high overhead. The arrows do not hurt it. It swoops again, screaming an icy cyclone over the moving creatures, too busy fighting each other to save themselves from its wrath.

"—Healing potion, force-feed it if you have to, we need her awake!"

Something is pressed to my mouth and I realise I'm being propped up against someone, a glass bottle being shoved against my lips as the bitter fluid is tipped into my mouth. I swallow reflexively, realising that feeling has somewhat returned and I can hear someone speaking softly to me, as if encouraging. War cries, shouts, the clashing of steel and the cries of wounded and... and dying...

The dragon roars again, and my eyes snap open as I see the figure bank in the sky above, readying itself to swoop in low—

"Krii lun aus!"

I don't know what propels me to me feet, or what pushes me to Shout, but the energy races towards the dragon, catching it mid-dive. It pulls back, flapping to keep itself hovering as if re-assessing the situation, before flying upwards.

"Oh no you don't," I hear myself say, turning as I draw another breath. It won't be as powerful, not so soon after the first Shout, but it'll help. "Gaan lah haas!"

A scream. The first arrow pierces it through scale as the Shout hits. It turns, banking high over the peaks. The threat is alive, awake, ready to challenge, and it cannot ignore the Sister's challenge. It turns, another arrow sticking between the scales even as it dives, freezing everything in its path as it swoops towards the Sister, silver beam in her hands as she thrusts upwards—

The dragon shrieks as the tip of the sword slices through scale, rending it from neck to tail as it passes overhead. The wound isn't a mortal one, but it will be painful. Painful enough to be debilitating? I hope so.

Ice has frozen to the metal plating of my armour, and I hear it crack and fall away as I turn to chase the beast. I consider using a fire breath Shout to counter its frost, but I can't remember the second word for it – instead, I pull fire into the palm of my left hand and hurl a firebolt at the beast.

It wheels around, dodging the firebolt as it stays high, out of range of sword, Shout, or magic. I unsling my bow and wrench out a few arrows, nocking the first and taking aim as it hovers, roaring in defiance. It dodges the first, and sweeps overhead as I try to shoot it a second time, this time only narrowly missing. My feet snag on something and I glance down, recognising the red armour, but I can't stop for it. I loose the third arrow as the dragon banks sharply, narrowly avoiding this one, too.

The dragon senses it, though, and wheels around, screaming a challenge. I roar back, the voices of the other dragons adding to my own natural Thu'um. I can feel the earth shake with the sound, hear the skies seem to split open, and for just a moment the dragon – young, foolish, not yet an individual – hesitates.

The tales of the Sister speak true; her Thu'um is strong, enough to shake the mountain itself. It falters, considering the wisdom in its continued attack—

I have my fourth arrow nocked, and aim instinctively as it falters, taking advantage of the moment of hesitation. Like he's begging for the shot. It all takes place in under a second – nocking, drawing, aiming, firing, and I feel the beast's pain as the arrow hits it in the base of the neck.

Other bows are firing at it, and it roars again before flying up, pivoting on one wing, and diving in low, screaming another cyclonic breath. People dive out of the way, but few evade the attack successful, and as it sweeps in it catches a man in its talons, carrying him into the air and flinging him into the rocky cliffs. His screams stop when he hits the stone.

It turns around again, circling now as it studies us. I realise the split-vision I've been getting, the urge to fight, to destroy, it comes from this dragon. Just like with Rezkeroth at Ancient's Ascent, I can feel what the dragon is feeling, see what it sees. Maybe I can use that.

It swoops again, knowing this fight is futile, that this will be its last, but it intends to take down as many as it can before it is slain. It does not truly understand death, only that if the Briinah, the Sister, takes its soul then there will be no return.

I dive aside this time as it passes over with another icy breath, and I feel the claws rake across my side, closing on air. It shrieks again, as I stand, feeling ready to try another full Shout. Time to come down.

"Fuus ro dah!"

All of my anger at this beast, at the Stormcloaks, at Ondolemar and Molag Bal, all of my resistance is poured into the shout, and the energy hits not only a number of soldiers, but also hits the dragon hard. It's flung back as the mountainside literally shakes, land dislodging, and it falls against the precarious rocky path that leads back to the base. The stone buckles, weakened by the shout and now suddenly assaulted by the weight, and the dragon screams in defiance as it falls, its body scoring a long, deep scar into the mountainside.

I take a few steps forth, towards where the beast fell, feeling the fear, the sudden experience of total mortality as it accepts its fate. I can still sense that its alive, but it has been severely weakened and I can turn my attention to the fighting now occurring around me.

Brand is close, staring at me with wide eyes. I recognise the legionnaires still clashing with Stormcloaks, the bodies of both sides littering the ground along with shattered icy shards. I hear myself shouting as I look up, see two Stormcloaks take down a legionnaire, feel an icy coldness grip my heart.

"Stop!"

There's no Thu'um in the cry, only a deep fear. It's not enough to make anyone pause. I charge in, drawing my sword—

There's an ear-splitting shriek as the dragon shoots back up, soaring past the destroyed precipice and over the town. It swoops in, talons wrapping around not one or two, but three of the people still fighting, carrying them up as it beats its wings, climbing higher, higher—

I don't watch their fall, but I hear the broken sound as they hit the stony ground nearby. The dragon pivots high, tucking its wings, diving. I don't have the strength for another Thu'um, my bow is somewhere on the ground, and all I have is my sword and a spell. I raise my hands as it closes the gap between us, feeling the charge as I hurl the bolt at it.

A blast of combined elemental energies rockets forth, hitting the dragon dead in the face as it tries to pull up. The blast sweeps back along its body, leaving long marks in its sides and wings as it hits the ground at an angle. Rocks and dust are flung everywhere as it skids through the dirt, leaving a long furlough in the clearing.

I'm moving, my actions beyond my control as I charge forth, leaping at the precise moment, running up its face and driving my sword down. Bone splinters under the weight behind my blade, and the dragon shrieks as it rears up, as if it can throw me – I cling to the hilt of my sword, now so deeply embedded that it won't be shaken free. It falls, crashing to the ground as the last vestiges of denial, pride, fury, chaos all surge through it, even as the scales begin to smolder and flake.

I feel the heat racing beneath the hide, forcing its way outwards – and then, that rushing wind as the soul tries to take flight, only to be drawn back down to earth. Back down to me.

I manage to stand, realising there's a pain in my skull and in my side even as they fade, dissipating as the new soul takes its place alongside the others. My sword is buried hilt-deep in the beast's skull, and even as the internal fire burns away the scales and dries the bones, I realise I'm going to have a hell of a time getting it back out.

"Ysmir's beard! I never thought I'd see—"

Voices are talking, and the shouting has stopped as I try to take another step, feel my knees weaken, and clutch at the dragon's horn again. My hand is pressed to my side and I look down to see blood – my blood, and a lot of it. There's a gash in the side of my armour, too, and a splitting pain in my head – as I touch the spot there, I feel blood in my hair as well.

There's a war cry, someone crying out in pain as others respond. I look up to see Skjoren, axe in hand, swinging at the legionnaires near him.

"Kaleb! Do it!"

Another Stormcloak is sprinting, two more legionnaires chasing after him even as he grabs up a torch – he's too far ahead of them, and hurls the torch at the nearby house—

"Iiz!"

I stumble from the effort, but the Shout does its job – as the legionnaires tackle the Stormcloak, a gust of icy wind shoots past them, not only dousing the fire but freezing it in place. I round on Skjoren, just in time to see him cut another man down. I'm moving fast, leaping off the dragon's skull, charging for him even as other fighting has broken out around me—

My hand presses against flesh, a burning heat in my palm as I force the man to his knees with an unnatural strength that isn't mine. He tries to swing but I catch his axe with my hand, wrench it from his grip and fling it aside like a twig. He is weak, worthless, and deserves to know it.

The voice that comes from my mouth isn't my own; it's female, certainly, but different. The voice of a person who expects to be obeyed, and will punish those who refuse. The voice of her. His eyes widen with fear as he feels the heat in my hand, the unmistakeable heat that foreshadows a gout of flame.

"You can tell your men to stand down or you can choke on the fire you bestow upon others."

This isn't the dragons, though they're loving it. I feel him tremble, ever so slightly, and let my hand burn hot at his silence, tightening my grip around his neck. He hurt me. He deserves death.

"Stand down!" He chokes out, his voice strangled. I realise there's other shouts around us, others still fighting, but my focus is on him. "All of you, lay your weapons down!"

I enjoy the fear in his voice, and my lips curl into a sadistic smirk.

What the hell am I doing?

I step back suddenly, filled with shock and revulsion as Skjoren falls to the ground, choking on his breaths. This isn't me, what the hell am I doing? I look around, my own breaths returning shakily as I stare at everyone watching. From somewhere deep, hidden in the recesses of the back of my mind, I hear a deep, demonic laughter...