Song of Hakonsdotter: A Warrior Rises

by TheSamanthaborn

Honorary Title: All Dogs Go To Sovngarde When a traveling mercenary finds herself being accused of allying with the Stormcloaks, she's arrested and condemned to death. Salvation comes on the wings of ruin, but when she manages to claw her way to safety, she's granted a new lease on life. What will she make of herself with her freedom? And what destiny do the Divines have in store?

14. No Choice At All

20th Morning Star, 4E182

'I don't understand, da. Why do you have to go?'

Her lower lip quivered and she did her best to hide it, but she needn't have bothered; her father's head was bent over his work, and he didn't see her face.

The flames in the hearth cast their light around the room, making her father's red hair and beard go fiery and glinting wickedly off the spearhead he sharpened with grim determination.

Outside of their cabin, winter held their village in cruel, piercing claws that seemed like they'd never relent. She couldn't remember another so cold – too cold even for snow, the bare black earth turned into iron. Worst of all was the whipping wind that rattled through the trees like a hand of death – stealing the breath from the young and the old, killing the small things that called the forest home, and making their firewood burn much too fast, just trying to keep it at bay. It had been many moons since she'd been allowed to venture outside, and for once, what she saw through their single window didn't encourage her.

It wasn't safe to go outside. In her small heart of hearts, she knew this was why her father had to go. But knowing wasn't accepting.

'I've already told you, little bird.' From his place at their table, he sighed, and raised his head to fix her with blue, blue eyes.

'It's this bitter cold, throwing everything off kilter. The whole village is running low on food, and firewood. It's hardly safe to go and gather more. And now—'

'The wolves?' She interrupted, her voice small and trembling.

He nodded grimly.

'The wolves. They're hungry too. But too much of what they normally hunt has gone and died in this freeze. Now they look to us.'

There was more he wasn't saying. But she knew enough; the night before, some other village men had come calling, bundled up to the eyes, to speak with her father. And he'd sent her away to wait downstairs...but no one had checked to see that she'd really gone. No one had noticed the little listener on the steps...

They'd spoken in voices rushed and grating, baring news – all of it bad.

It had started five nights ago – a tough bitch-dog let out to take a piss, that never came back inside when called. Her owner found her the next morning, just where the forest met the village, torn apart and picked nearly clean. One day later it happened again, this time with a prized herding hound. And then again, with two sheep. Finally came the news from one night before; at Shalefist farm, just outside the village, Markon Shalefist had a mare go into labor. He'd sent his oldest son, a grown man, out to the barn to oversee the foaling; having heard of the attacks and not wanting to take chances, he'd sent him with their biggest dog, and armed with a cross-bow and bolts.

All for nothing. When the son stayed out in the barn all night, they figured it'd just been a difficult foal. But when old Shalefist went out the next morning, he'd found the shock of his life. The bolt on the barn-doors had been broken, long claw-marks scratched deep into the wood, and inside was nothing but death. The mare, the newborn foal, the dog, and worst of all, Markon's first-born – all torn apart and ravaged, in the bloody, matted straw. The fight hadn't been one sided, though; the son had the crossbow in hand where he'd fallen, and a wolf lay dead too, with a bolt in its chest. Much too thin, it had been, with a coat much thicker than usual – and also partially eaten. Apparently these wolves were so hungry that not even their own kind were out of the question.

It had been the last straw. With Markon and his wife beside themselves and the remains of their eldest waiting for earth you could shovel, the villagers decided that enough was enough. Something had to be done, and quickly. Her father had agreed to help readily enough. But when one of the more fearful men there started to describe the corpses in better detail, he'd cut them off sharply.

'Hush, Leifek! Now's not the time. My girl is downstairs.' She'd heard the scrape of a chair then, recognized her father's footfall as he came to peer down the stairwell, and she'd had to scarper down the steps as quick as she could to avoid being seen. She'd raced across the cold flagstone and leapt into her father's bed, yanking the covers up over her head and forcing herself to lay still and quiet. She'd heard him come down the stairs, and then felt his eyes on her blanketed back, and had done her best not to give herself away. She must have fooled him, because a long moment later he'd sighed and gone back up the stairs.

The men had stayed only briefly after that, planning in a muffle she couldn't make out, and then had gone back to their own homes. She had laid there unmoving when her father returned, cursing softly under his breath and blowing out the candles. He hadn't bothered to carry her to her own bed upstairs – had simply slipped under the furs and blankets beside her – and she didn't know which one of them had lain awake the longer.

When he'd sat her down this morning and told her the news about the wolves, she'd done her best to act surprised. Secretly, selfishly, she'd wished with all her little girl's heart that he would change his mind – leave the work to others. Surely, that wasn't wrong of her? He was all she had.

But now he had his gambeson on, and the edge of the spearhead glinted between them in the flickering firelight.

She tried to be strong – she really did. Tried to hold in the words bubbling up. But—

'I don't want you to go out there, da.'

'I know you don't, love, and I'm sorry. But we don't have a choice.' He smiled at her then, apologetically.

'The wolves are too dangerous. We can't let them stay so close to our borders. The men have all agreed to fight—'

'But you don't like to fight!'

The words came out louder than she'd meant them to be; the sudden noise caused the enormous boarhound curled up at her feet to raise his sleek head and look at her with hazel eyes full of concern.

Her father shook his head. 'It doesn't matter. I can't let anything happen to you. I made a promise, remember?' He eyed her significantly, and didn't have to explain.

She knew he was talking about mama.

It had been three years, but just then, it was still too fresh. Too painful to think about. She nodded reluctantly at his question, and sucked in a breath as she blinked rapidly, trying to fight off the tears. When her father saw her, his whole face softened.

'Hey, hey. None of that, now. Come here.'

He slid from his chair down onto his knees, and when she got close enough he wrapped her up in his strong, padded arms and murmured in her ear, rubbing her back with one calloused hand.

'Don't cry, little bird. Your mama is watching over us both now, remember? Because she loves us. Loves you.'

'I k-know,' she answered shakily.

'Well then, try to understand. I have to do this now, because we all love you. I love you so much.'

Suddenly, she felt the whiskers of his beard crinkle in a smile against her ear.

'And Ragnar loves you too.'

'But da,' she protested weakly. 'Ragnar is just a dog.'

He pulled back to look at her then, and as it did so often, the smile she saw on his face coaxed out one of her own – albeit a watery one.

'And yet, from the day I brought him home and he laid eyes on you, he's been more your dog than mine!' He growled the words playfully, eyes bright and teasing.

'I paid good money for that dog. For hunting, guarding...and one look at you, and he'd rather be playing hide and seek, chasing you through the trees.'

It was true, and she knew it; even as they spoke, Ragnar lifted himself from his place on the floor and came to stand beside her, rubbing his head into her open palm and whining. Cheered by her dog, and her father's words, she looked up at him again.

'If you go, do you promise to be safe?'

At the look on his daughter's face, Hakon's heart skipped a beat in his chest, and his breath caught in his throat. She was growing so fast...and she looked so much like Sigva when she looked at him like that, brows arched and brown eyes wide and searching, trying (succeeding) to be forceful. For a second, the pain in his chest arrested his answer. But then he shook himself, pulled himself back into the moment. He chuckled, and his face fell into an easy grin.

'I promise. Cross my heart. Me and Ragnar will be safe as houses.' His blue eyes gave a merry twinkle, and he chucked a finger beneath her chin.

'And when we come back, we'll bring you some fresh meat to eat – with the way you've been growing, Gods know it won't be wasted.'

She laughed at that, swatting at her father's hand, and he joined her in laughing. For a moment, everything in the cabin was easy and bright again.

Then came an urgent hammering at the door.

Her father's face fell as they quieted, and he rushed to meet whoever was knocking. They didn't come inside, so she couldn't see who it was from where she was standing. But she heard him; the man sounded as grim and urgent as his knock.

'It's time, Hakon. The rest of the men are set to go. We need to move while there's still light. Are you ready?'

'Nearly.'

From there, proceedings in the cabin were a blur; sturdy boots were donned, spearhead and haft were reunited, and a rucksack was slung on. In next to no time, her father was standing ready with Ragnar at his heel; the boarhound no longer looked sleepy, but tensed and alert. Hakon called to their neighbor that he'd be with him momentarily. Then he crossed the distance between father and daughter, and knelt in front of her a second time.

Anxiety had spiked in her chest again; she couldn't help it. She was thinking of what she'd overheard – of Londar Shalefist being ripped apart – and her hands were shaking when they grabbed her father's much bigger ones.

'Are you sure you have to do this, da?'

'Yes. I'm sure.' As he squeezed her hands, his voice was uncharacteristically rough. The air around them had grown very thick and serious.

'But why?' she despaired. 'Anything could happen! What if—'

But he interrupted her.

'Because, Merrin.' He spoke over her forcefully, and then all of a sudden he grabbed her, and wrapped her in a crushing hug that squeezed the breath from her. He continued in a low, rushed tone, speaking right above her ear. Hakon didn't know it then, but the words would stick with Merrin forever.

'When there's danger, you protect what matters to you – no matter the cost.'

He pulled away from his daughter, saw that she was trying hard to be brave. After a moment she nodded, and he let her go.

'Good. I've got to go now. Keep this door locked. And wait for me – I will be back.'

And with the thud of the cabin door closing, she was alone.

---

10th Hearthfire, 4E201

For a full moment after Irileth's announcement, the mead hall was absolutely silent. The elf stood staring at ten shocked faces, ten mouths hanging open to varying degrees. The only sound was the crackling of the fire. And then nearly everyone started shouting at once.

The confused panic rang in Merrin's ears like a clattering of jackdaws, so grating that it broke through her momentary daze. She ground her teeth in frustration, and then threw her hands up into the air she let out a yell louder than all the rest.

'EVERYBODY, QUIIIEEEET!'

Again, all present fell mostly silent, and Merrin turned to look at the housecarl.

'A dragon?' She asked quickly. 'Are you sure?'

'There's nothing else it could be, serah.'

'As you say,' Merrin conceded. 'But – why does the Jarl ask for my help?'

'You were at Helgen's burning. You are the only person in this city who has experience with dragons!'

And so, one way or another, the skeever was truly out of the bag; there was absolutely no hiding now. Standing in the thick of this insane situation, a part of her almost wanted to laugh. The rest was tempted to tear her hair out.

Internally, Merrin was standing on a knife's edge; it would be all too easy to let herself fall. She was exhausted from all she'd just done – she felt spent, or very near to it. In the stretching, uneasy silence, she took one second to throw a weary question up at the gods—why?—and consider what would happen if she put down her weapons and told Irileth to leave.

But only one second. She knew as soon as she allowed herself to wonder that she couldn't back down, no matter how gripped she was by fear. Unbidden, her father's urgent voice from all those years ago came clearly to her now, the way it had so many times before.

When there's danger, you protect what matters to you – no matter the cost.

What did it matter that she was tired? Scared? The dragon wouldn't wait for her to rest. There was danger, and she would protect what mattered to her.

Rolling her shoulders in resolution, she looked back at the group of people around her; in later times, many would talk of the wild look she'd had in her eyes. In a fleeting moment she took in the shock, the fear, the disbelief and anger – felt it mirrored in herself. And then she looked back to Irileth, and nodded.

'Let's not waste any time, then. Lead me.'

---

She'd followed the Dunmer warrior out of Jorrvaskr, filled once again with the clamor of voices, and the pair had hurried down the stone steps beyond. Irileth shouted over her shoulder that there wasn't time to report to the Jarl in Dragonsreach, and Merrin had merely nodded, trying to fight back the feeling that she'd finally gone too far.

They'd just made it to the Gildergreen when they heard a loud crashing through the open doors of Jorrvaskr, and a man's voice yelling 'Farkas—!'. Merrin looked back at the commotion, and what she saw had her heart doing a somersault in her chest; Farkas himself running after her, still in plainclothes, and greatsword in hand. Irileth rushed her along, but he caught up to them on the stairs to the Plains district and reached out to snatch her by the hand. This yanked Merrin to a halt, and when Irileth noticed and turned to scowl up at him, he addressed the housecarl in a defiant bark.

'I'm comin' along to fight with my shield-sister – whether you like it or not.'

Irileth opened her mouth, but Merrin cut in over her, looking up at her friend and speaking in a rush, giving his hand a squeeze.

'Farkas, you can't! You aren't even wearing armor, for Gods' sa—'

'I don't care,' he interrupted loudly. 'I'm not letting you face down a dragon alone! No matter what happens out there, I'm having your back.'

His blue eyes were blazing with determination as they met her own, and her heart gave another mad tumble at the sight. For a split second, she wanted to argue – but she relented instead, and gave a speechless nod.

Irileth was quite unmoved by the exchange; she made a sharp, impatient sound, and gestured at the stairs.

'We don't have time to stand around! Quickly, whoever is coming, let's move on!'

The three of them ran headlong down the steps and into the marketplace. When they passed the guards who usually stationed there, Irileth shouted for them to join them, Jarl's orders, and the men fell into line without asking questions, shoving on their helmets and looking confused. She repeated herself for every guard they met, so that by the time they reached the barracks by the city gate, they made a sizeable group. Still more poured from the wooden building at the urging of the sentry on the roof, and Irileth called to these men, too.

'Men! Where is your Captain?'

As the Jarl's housecarl, Irileth pulled the same rank as the captain of the city guard; instantly, a man standing in the threshold answered her.

'Captain Caius was called away to Whitewatch Tower. Something about the battlements needing—'

'It doesn't matter,' the Dunmer interrupted. 'He's too far away! Listen carefully, all of you. Your Jarl requires your immediate service!'

In Merrin's opinion, it was a credit to Whiterun's guard that none of them panicked or ran; as Irileth brought them up to speed, she saw several faces go pale with shock and fear, but all of them stood their ground.

Finally, one of them spoke up – one of the men who'd followed them down from the Plains district.

'But Irileth, how are we supposed to fight off a dragon? None of us has so much as seen one before!' His words sparked a rippling murmur of agreement through several more of the assembled, and his eyes were beseeching as he stared at the elf.

Irileth squared her shoulders and raised her chin. 'We don't know for certain we will be fighting it – when the guard who broke cover to report saw it last, the brute was just circling overhead. We won't know until we see for ourselves.'

'But Helgen – and the northern farms—'

'Were defenseless, and taken by surprise,' she retorted fiercely. 'Whiterun will be neither!'

But she must have seen that they were shaken; her proud face softened slightly, and she reached out to grab the man by the shoulder and give him a shake before she addressed the group at large.

'I know that you're afraid. We know not what we face – this enemy is strange to us.'

All around Merrin, there was another roll of murmuring. Irileth shook her head.

'But who among us has never known fear? Only fools and the dead never doubt – what matters is what lies beneath!'

'We face the unknown, but we are not untested! The brave men and women who serve this cityhave proven time and again that courage reigns in their hearts – they conquer their fear as they conquer their enemies, and rise to face the tide!'

The group around them was starting to get louder, agreeing now instead of protesting, steeling themselves for the coming battle. Their strength added to hers, and Merrin straightened her spine with resolve as she glanced Farkas' way. He caught her movement and met her eye, giving her a nod that was unusually grave.

Irileth's voice had risen to a shout. She unsheathed the sword at her hip with a metallic ring and thrust the blade skyward over her head – sunlight bounced brightly off of the steel, and behind it the sky was brilliantly blue. The elf was the picture of determination, of will.

'So rise! Whiterun guard, your city needs you! Grab hold of your courage, and answer the call!'

It was the push the men had needed; all around her, Merrin watched as guards in the yellow garb of Whiterun raised their voices and their swords, blades to the sky and courage beating in their breast. Beside her Farkas let out a whooping yell, and beat a closed fist against his unarmored chest. Irileth resheathed her blade, and then pushed the city gate open with both hands amidst the din, yelling to be heard.

'Good! Now stick together, and follow me!'

The cheering fell silent fairly quickly as the group ran down the city ramparts and onto the surrounding plain. It was eerie out here; the birds that normally wheeled overhead had suddenly all vanished – not a single one in sight. Worse still was the racket coming from the stables: the horses must've been able to sense the danger nearby, and they'd all gone wild in their stalls, kicking the wooden walls and doors and piercing the air with their panicked shrieks. The stablemaster and his son could both be seen running up and down the stall rows, waving their arms and shouting at the beasts. There was a good chance that they didn't even know what had the horses so terrified, and in their efforts to make sure none broke free, they had no way of finding out. But there was no time to warn them...

They hadn't made it very far from the city, when they were met with a sight that had many shouting out.

Smoke. Curling dark and thick into the sky overhead, what could be seen of the western watchtower was shimmering in a haze of smoke, distorted by waves of heat.

The dragon did more than circle overhead.

Irileth snarled out a curse, and then had the entire group running twice as hard to get to the tower.

As Merrin sprinted alongside the others toward what would surely be a fight, she was locked in a fight of her own: a struggle against the panic that was trying to choke her. Her heart was thundering so hard in her chest it felt as if it would burst through her ribs, and her thoughts were a desperate tangle. Above all the rest, one fear rose to batter her; the closer she came to the tower, the more insistent it grew.

What would happen to her when she saw the dragon again? What if she couldn't handle it?

Thinking it made her shudder. She still had nightmares about Helgen; with the barest of efforts, she could see it as if it were right in front of her. She could hear the screams, and smell the burning flesh...see the raging fires. And above all, she could see the crimson glow of the black dragon's evil stare – the eyes of Alduin, locked fast with hers. She could feel the force of his voice. Merrin wasn't sure she'd be able to handle it if she were confronted by them now...

Helgen had been a slaughter. She'd barely made it out alive. What would happen to the people around her, if that awful lizard were to swoop down on them? The most likely answer made her want to vomit.

But in spite of it all, she kept running towards the fires getting clearer up ahead. Gritting her teeth, she shoved back hard against the fear clawing up her throat and trying to seize her muscles.

She had to do all she could to keep the dragon from attacking the city. She had to...

By the time Irileth called for the lot of them to stop and take cover, the scene in front of them spoke for itself.

The tower was a mess. A section of the ramparts had been smashed to rubble as if they were made of soapstone, with chunks the size of a man tossed pell-mell out onto the plain. Huge swaths of the grass around them had been scorched to nothing but blackened earth, and the wooden barricades had been lit up like kindling, so they stood there now as little more than ash, sending smoke trails into the sky overhead.

Nothing ahead of them moved, and aside from the soft crackle of flame, the only sound was the breeze.

Irileth was the first to break the silence, swearing harshly in dunmeris. She didn't turn away from the ruin in front of them – just spoke to them behind her, as she eyed the dismal scene.

'Alright. Clearly, we've missed some action. But that doesn't mean we let our guards down...everyone, weapons out.'

The guardsmen hurried to obey, swords unsheathed and bows unshouldered. Irileth shot a quick glance at Merrin just as she took her bow in hand, red eyes hard and flashing as she unsheathed her sword.

'Hakonsdotter, what should we expect from the beast, if it returns?'

Merrin sucked in a breath, and forcefully shoved the thought of Alduin away as the rest of the group turned to stare at her.

'You see what's happened here. The dragon will be fast, and strong.' She spoke quickly – relieved when her voice didn't catch.

'Nothing but cover or dumb luck will save you from that fire – we need to be smart and fast on our feet.'

'Well, at least I'm one of those,' Farkas answered with a grin. Around him, a few men chuckled weakly.

Merrin couldn't help it – she glowered at him.

'This is no time to be joking, Farkas! We could lose people. We likely already have.'

His face fell at her harsh words, and she was immediately guilty, but she couldn't apologize; Irileth cut over them both, urgent and demanding.

'Focus, people!' Her eyes lit into Merrin again, sharp and expectant. 'Anything else?'

She nodded, repressing another shudder. 'It likely won't land to engage us, so long as it has a chance of roasting us from the air. But if it does land, stay clear of both ends. Head and tail can both take you out. And...the legends are true.' She grimaced.

'Dragons can Shout, like in the stories. The force can flatten you, if you're not on your guard.' She glanced around at their pale faces, looking grim and afraid, and shook her head.

'We all need to be careful.'

Irileth was like a rock in a stormy sea; she nodded resolutely at all Merrin had said, and if she felt a trace of fear, she didn't let it show. Her striking grey face was set and determined, and her back and shoulders were ramrod straight as she addressed the group.

'Right, then. You heard the woman – fast, smart, and careful! That's how we survive this mission! Now, we can see the tower's been hit, but we don't know the extent of the damage. I want two even groups'—she made a splitting motion with her arms down the centre of the gathered party—'and we're going to assess the scene. Look for answers, and look for survivors. Most importantly, keep an eye on the skies! We don't want the bastard getting the drop on us.'

With a murmur of assent the group split into halves, and then both took off in two separate directions to begin the search. The adrenaline coursing through Merrin's body had burned away most of her exhaustion – a blessing, no doubt. But the nervous energy of the group was palpable, to the point where it tingled over the skin; she was grateful to have Farkas with her, and when she looked to him beside her, the smile he shot her couldn't quite mask his unease. His nostrils were flared, and his shoulders kept dipping as he took big, heavy breaths, as if he were trying to taste the air. It was strange, but she had no time to dwell on it.

The quiet murmur of anxious men joined the sounds of the wind and crackling embers. As their group moved, they encountered more wreckage, but nothing particularly informative. The men around her kept glancing skyward as they prodded through rocky rubble, clutching their weapons and muttering. Their first shocking discovery came abruptly, as they rounded the corner of the shattered rampart.

A dead body—or rather, the lower half of one. A swath of gore spilled over the grass where the body had fallen, the unlucky victim's intestines tumbling like so much unravelled yarn from the torn and bloody cavity, and the air was rank with the smell of shit from where some of the entrails had burst.

Several of them shouted or groaned at the gruesome sight, before clapping hands over mouths; one of their number leaned over where he stood, and was violently sick in the grass. Merrin's stomach gave a hard roll of its own, and she covered her nose and fought not to gag as she stared at the corpse. The upper half was nowhere around, but the boots and chausses were city issue, and a blood-soaked sash around the hips was still discernibly yellow in spots. This had been a Whiterun guard.

'Somebody needs to tell Irileth about this.'

Farkas' voice behind her was tighter and grimmer than she'd ever heard it, and when she looked up and over her shoulder, his face was pale and drawn.

The housecarl had split off with the other group, and one of the guardsmen nodded at the Companion before he bolted off to inform her. There was some quiet moaning as the rest of them stood there, several men muttering jerkily. It was Merrin who shook her head, and spoke up.

'This is awful, but we need answers. There may be survivors yet – we should keep moving.'

The group listened to her, and they moved on. But now the men looked skyward twice as often, sweeping the deep blue with eyes full of fear, and sticking closer together than before.

They figured out quickly that what remained of the rampart was clear of survivors and dead alike, and turned their attention to the tower itself. Merrin was hopeful that some of the watch had survived by retreating inside, and it was she who lead the group as they stole cautiously up the stone ramp to the singed wooden doors. They were no more than a few steps away when those doors came suddenly blasting apart.

A man stood heaving in the threshold – another guard, with his Whiterun mantle torn and flapping, and blood caked and drying in his trim brown beard. He stared at them with wild eyes, and spoke at them in a furious whisper.

'What are you fools doing?! You aren't safe – it's still out here somewhere!' His terrified gaze swept the sky behind them, and then he craned his neck to look at the mountains to their left.

'Hroki and Tor got grabbed when they made a run for it! I told them not to chance it – I told them!'

The sound of the heavy doors banging open had attracted the other group's attention; from their position a stone's throw away, Irileth had peered up to see what made the sound. Several of the guards in Merrin's group had started furiously waving the housecarl over, and now the elf's group was converging on theirs, but they still had a way to go. Not daring to reach out and grab his shoulder, Merrin addressed the terrified guard, keeping her voice low like his.

'Calm yourself, man. Tell me, when did you last see the dragon? Where did it go?'

'I'm not s-sure...after Tor, it flew off again – I didn't see where, 'cause I was in here! I just heard the...' He broke off with a dry sob; his eyes were unfocused, and he was clearly in shock. 'I barely made it inside in time. I barely made it—'

'What's going on?' Irileth's commanding voice cut through the air, much louder than Merrin or the guard's had been, and the man flinched from head to toe as he looked to the Dunmer woman behind them.

'It's Demyen, Irileth.' One of the guards in their group rushed to answer, keeping his voice down to just above a whisper. 'He survived the attack! He says the others got snatched when they tried to run for the city. The dragon flew off not too long ago, but he ain't sure where. And he thinks it's still around somewhere, but—'

'What makes you say that, man?' Irileth turned her sharp gaze onto Demyen, but the traumatized man only stared at her, dazed. Seeing it, several of the men assembled tittered nervously.

The housecarl seemed to remember then that all present were looking to her, because she shook her head with a snort and addressed them firmly as a whole, the rest of her group trailing up behind her.

'Never mind. There will be plenty of time for talk. First we need to—'

But the rest of her sentence was suddenly drowned out by a terrible, rolling roar that had the men crying out, and every hair on the back of Merrin's neck standing straight on end. As one, the group looked frantically to the sky, eyes roving the cloudless blue. But it was the petrified Demyen who let out a sudden wail, and stabbed a shaking finger into the sky over the mountains.

'Kynareth, save us – here he comes again!'

Merrin's head whipped with several others to look where he pointed, her heart squeezing awfully in her chest, and it skipped several beats altogether when she saw what Demyen had seen. Cast into silhouette by the sun, a mighty wingspan stretched to the limit, coasting the wind toward them. And with the shape of the body, the tail, the horned head – there could be no mistake. The dragon was back.

As the lot of them stood in that moment of still terror, the dragon called out to them. His rich voice boomed easily over the wind. And Merrin understood.

'Ahrk nu, hi bo? Geh! Ru wah grind hin dinok, meyei!'

And still, you come? Yes! Run to meet your death then, fools!

At the sound of that voice, panic broke wild over their group. Some men reared back, shouting incoherently; the least experienced among them loosed feeble arrows poorly aimed, with no hope of making their mark. Still others started pushing from the back of the group, trying frantically to worm their way through and get inside the tower. The confusion was awful, and with someone less capable than Irileth holding the reins, it quickly could've tipped into chaos.

But the Dunmer woman was smart; tactically minded, and damn-near unshakeable. With her eyes never leaving the dragon, she pressed herself against the wall of the rampart and let loose a bellow that cut above all the rest.

'Everybody inside the tower, now! Now – INSIDE!'

Merrin was staring transfixed at the dragon flying towards them at remarkable speed, and was nearly trampled by the group of men rushing to carry out their leader's orders. The only thing that saved her was Farkas grabbing the back of her breastplate and yanking her aside, and it was only when he started dragging her through the door that she snapped out of her paralysis. The dragon would be on the tower in moments, and Irileth was shouting to the last of the men, the ones who'd been the farthest out, to hurry up as they streaked through the door. Demyen was somehow still in the threshold; in his state, he didn't even seem to notice the other men battering him as they rushed to safety. He was just stunned and gaping as he stared in mute horror at the dragon bearing down on them – and no one had thought to grab him in the crush. Irileth was the very last through the door, and she was the one to do it. The dragon gave a blood-curdling roar as she yanked him through the doors by his sash, and before she'd had a chance to slam them, it sent a gout of flame straight toward them. With a roar of her own, the Dunmer shoved the heavy doors shut, and slammed the bar home just as the fire hit the other side. As those nearest the doors backed away, a sharp blast of hot air came rushing through the cracks in the jamb, followed by curling fingers of smoke. And then Irileth was shouting again, over the sound of flapping wings.

'All of you, grab bow and arrows! Get to the loops! We'll try to take the beast from the air!'

As Merrin hurried to the nearest narrow opening in the tower wall, she did her best to ignore the pounding of her heart, and the screaming questions in her head – like how could she understand the dragon now?! This was no dream! And when she'd heard him speak in Helgen, the words had meant nothing to her. And yet—

'Wake up, Merrin!'

Her thoughts were shattered by Farkas yelling at her from the next loop over; he'd snagged a bow from one of the racks on the wall, and his face was urgent as he pulled the string back, arrow nocked.

'It's headed our way!'

And so he was; the shadow flitting across the ground below was unmistakeable, and it took all her resolve not to cringe as she prepared to meet Alduin face to face again. To see those ruby coals lock onto her...

Only, it didn't happen. She nocked an arrow of her own, drew it back to her ear, and pointed it skyward just as the dragon came into view. And what she saw gave her such a shock that she gasped, throwing off her aim, and the arrow that slipped from her fingers went sailing off into the plain, hitting nothing but faraway ground.

This dragon wasn't Alduin! Without the sun casting it into shadow, it was obvious at a glance. Far from the shimmering, iridescent midnight she remembered, this dragon's scales were a dull sort of bronze – the skin of its wings a pale, mottled yellow. From far away she hadn't noticed, but up close, she could see that it was somewhat smaller than Alduin had been. Most telling of all, this dragon's eyes didn't glow like a fire from Oblivion; they didn't glow at all!

In that moment, the significance didn't touch her; all she felt as she stared at that dragon was a rushing swell of relief.

Several arrows came whizzing out from the tower to meet the dragon, and as it beat its wings to move back out of range, it—he—spoke again, and cemented her realization.

'Zu'u los Mirmulnir – nid tuz lost pruzaan zu'u nu, jul!'

I am Mirmulnir – no weapon has bested me yet, humans!

At the end of his declaration, the dragon's mouth yawed unnaturally wide, and an uncanny light came flickering up from his throat to illuminate his maw. Realizing what was happening, Merrin, Farkas, and the others on that side of the tower all threw themselves away from the windows, bracing against the walls.

And just in time – Mirmulnir let go a shrieking blast of yellow fire that came bursting through the arrow loops into the tower beyond, forcing some of those inside to go leaping back with a startled yell. One man wasn't quick enough and his Whiterun mantle caught up in flames, sending him to the floor with a panicked screech as several others rushed to put him out. The roar of the dragon was so loud that they could feel their eardrums throbbing; those with their backs pressed against the wall could actually feel the stone getting warm. As soon as the fire subsided, the dragon streaked up and away with a great beating of wings and a boom of laughter.

From there, the fight really began; archers manning every arrow loop, firing relentlessly at the dragon whenever they had a shot, and the dragon outside circling the tower, trying to roast them with gouts of flame and taunting them in his echoing bellow.

As the seconds dragged by like hours, the archers saw some success. Well-aimed arrows might pierce the underbelly, or put a small hole in one of the wings; enough of these holes would bring the dragon down. Irileth had destruction magic, and stood at her loop sending volley after volley of deadly ice spikes flying out to meet the dragon, red eyes narrowed in total concentration. For every spike that managed to land, she was rewarded with a bellow of pain from Mirmulnir.

But they were taking losses, too. One of the guards at Merrin's side was too slow in dodging a burst of flame – he caught the full force of it straight on, and the heat of the dragon's fire was such that it basically boiled him in his armor, splitting and charring his flesh in an instant, and he died falling back on one horrible scream. His death rattled their group, and before long, it happened to another man – this time on the opposite side of the tower. Most of their number kept on fighting, even as they trembled in fear and choked on the smell of scorched flesh; a few who had lost their courage entirely cowered under the twisting staircase, tears trailing their sweaty faces as they prayed to Kynareth, to Talos, to Akatosh.

For Merrin, the knowledge that this dragon wasn't Alduin had served to steel her nerves; her focus was razor sharp as she loosed her arrows, and although she felt fear as men fell around her, she had it under control.

But everyone's reflexes were tested when the dragon suddenly switched things up. Probably angry that he hadn't fried more of them, he boomed in frustration as he flew sharply upward.

'Hi mindol hi aal vonun nol dii?!'

You think you can hide from me?!

They had only a moment's warning; a shadow falling over the light in the tower, a flash of color up at the ceiling. And then the dragon had aimed its snout into the open trapdoor on the roof, and sent a swirling maelstrom of flame down towards them.

Again, it was chaos. In a litany of panicked yelling, the lot of them sprinted away from the loops and toward the only refuge they had – the stairs. Men dove for cover, landing one atop the other, and it was a mercy that Demyen and the hopeless were already sheltered, because nobody was stopping for them. Merrin knew a moment of wild terror when she looked around for Farkas and couldn't see him – and then she felt her legs sweep out from under her when a hulking mass crashed into her as she ran. He yanked her effortlessly into his arms, barely breaking stride as he kept on sprinting, and yelled over one broad shoulder for the last few stragglers to 'haul ass!' as he ducked under the safety of the staircase.

All of them made it, with not a second to spare; it had to have been a miracle. As the fire slammed into the flagstone in front of them, the air seemed to vanish from the room, causing many of them to cough and choke. The heat was absolutely vicious, and several of them got seared and singed. But all of them survived; the two burnt corpses got an extra crisping laying where they'd fallen, but no new bodies dropped to join them.

Irileth had done more than just duck for cover – she was crouched and waiting to spring, with a wreath of frost magic coiled around her hands. The moment Mirmulnir's flames dissipated, she lunged out from the stairs and sent two bolts of ice hurtling with impressive accuracy up and through the trapdoor.

And they made contact. The dragon had drawn back a bit from the trapdoor, clearly not expecting such quick retaliation. One of the spikes carved a deep gash into his cheek, just missing his open mouth. The other lodged into the long column of his neck.

Mirmulnir reared back, shrieking in surprise and pain; high above them, a splash of blood came falling through the trapdoor to splatter on the flagstone. Several of the men around Irileth cheered, and somebody thumped her on the back. The dragon was far from finished, though; they could hear him thrashing and flapping his wings, and groaning loudly in a mix of pain and fury. High above them, he suddenly laughed – the most chilling sound of all. And then he spoke to them again, sounding deranged to Merrin's ears.

'Ah, Zu'u lost vodahmin! Hi joor wahl grik yuvon krif!'

Oh, I had forgotten! You mortals make such fine sport!

He followed this statement with the very last thing that any of them would expect: he flew away. Almost too quickly to believe, the sound of his enormous flapping wings faded away to nothing, and they were left to huddle beneath the stairs, staring at each other wild and wide-eyed. In the new profound silence, the loudest sound in the tower was ragged breath.

'Where did that bastard go? Damn him!' Irileth hissed, the first to speak. Her hands were already crackling with more magic, and she scowled blackly as she peered through the opening in the roof.

A guard who was trying to sooth Demyen and the others looked up to the housecarl and frowned with worry. 'Maybe he's headed for the city.'

She cursed. 'We can't let that happen! Get back to the loops! We need eyes on the lizard – and his eyes on us.'

Many of the men jumped to follow her order, sliding arrows from their quivers just in case the dragon would be in their sights. One brave man volunteered to sprint up to the top level, taking a big risk to slam the trapdoor closed, so the dragon couldn't rain fire down on them again.

Farkas had been holding her upper arm in an iron grip while they huddled under cover, and she hadn't even noticed. But now he looked at her with wary eyes and a clenched jaw, and nodded as he let her go to stand and join the others. Merrin stood up to follow, but she was struck by a sudden unease. She stared at the men peering through the stone slits, whispering to each other, and the feeling grew as a partial thought nagged at her.

Such fine sport. Such fine sport...?

It made no sense – and then all at once, it did. Merrin's heart seemed to stop dead in her chest as she was hit by a sudden horrific intuition, and she took a lunging step forward with hands outstretched as she screamed at the men by the windows.

'Get away from the windows! It's a trap! He—'

Too late; she hadn't managed to finish her sentence, when out of nowhere there came such a resounding crash that it felt as if the mountain itself had slammed into the tower. The building trembled down to its foundation, and a rain of stone plaster came falling down on them from the upper levels with a hiss. It all happened in the blink of an eye – long brown fingers with deadly talons came thrusting through one of the arrow loops, curling around the stone rim, and then a section of the wall was being torn away. It was a show of terrible strength, and the crash of the stone wall coming away was unbelievable.

The men had jumped away at the crash of the dragon landing on the tower-side, but they just hadn't accounted for the monster's wit. Quick as a striking snake, he thrust an arm through the hole he'd made and lashed out blindly for a victim – swiping like an enormous cat hunting mice.

His claws found purchase in the armor of a man who hadn't jumped quite far enough, and the sorry sod didn't even have time to scream before the dragon whipped his arm back, slamming the man into the stone and crushing him to death.

The dragon began to laugh, in the wake of the anguished cries in the tower. But then something happened that no one expected.

While most of the men in the tower had stumbled away from the intruding arm, one especially brave and quick-witted man had done the opposite. With a bellowing roar, the muscular nord ripped his sword from its sheath as he launched himself toward the hole in the wall – and then buried it nearly to the hilt in the dragon's vulnerable underarm. In a flash, he had both hands around the hilt, and Merrin watched from across the floor as he wrenched the sword down with brutal force, tearing a jagged path that severed the connective tissue of the wing.

If they'd thought the dragon loud before, it was nothing to now. With an ear-splitting shriek of pain that rang in the peaks of the nearby mountains, he yanked his arm back out of the tower – sending the guard who'd landed the blow flying across the room in the process. The tower walls shook and trembled once more as Mirmulnir launched off of them, and his wailing tapered into a groan as he tried to take to the skies. There was a rustle of flapping, another roar of pain...and then the unmistakeable sound of something large crashing into the earth. A heart-beat of silence inside the tower; then a guard who'd sprinted to the nearest loop crowed triumphantly, and said the words they all wanted to hear:

'It's grounded!'

A wild, resounding cheer was his answer. Irileth had run to check on the guard who'd stabbed the dragon and been sent flying; she'd found him dazed and bleeding, but still alive, and pulled him to his feet. Looking fierce and determined, she nodded, and yelled to be heard above the cheering as she passed the man off to the nearest of his fellows.

'All of you, at arms! Spears and shields! Close in from the sides – ram-horn formation! Move out, move out!'

There was a thundering of boots on stone as everyone able rushed to follow orders. Spears were seized from their racks on the walls and passed from man to man, shields lobbed overhead and then caught. Even Farkas dropped his greatsword, and armed himself accordingly. As she stared at him he lifted his head and their eyes locked; she started out toward him, but then felt herself pulled back by the straps on her breastplate.

She whirled around snarling, and found it was Irileth who'd grabbed her.

'Hakonsdotter! You're a fine shot with that bow,' the dunmer woman shouted. 'You'll come with me, and we'll support the rest!'

Merrin would've argued, but there was no time – she just reached up to feel there were still arrows in her quiver, and ran after Irileth and her chosen city guards, careful to keep Farkas in her sights.

Mirmulnir had somewhat collected himself by the time the tower doors flew open, and the first of the group rushed out. A section of the plain had been torn up to dirt by the impact of his fall, and it was in this fresh rut that he stood, coiled to strike as he raised his head to regard them. Steam billowed from his nostrils; blood was seeping down his face, neck, and side. He was favoring his right arm, wing flat to his back. But it didn't make him look any less capable, and bright, lidded eyes the color of topaz narrowed to slits as he watched them come.

'Hi los kril – bahlaan hokoron.'

You are brave – worthy enemies.

They'd fought the dragon out of the air, but now they had to best him on the ground. And the serpent had no intention of cooperating.

The men tried to scramble into formation, with spears raised as they fell in like two funnels towards the dragon's sides. But he answered this with a sweeping gout of flame that shot out thirty paces, and just as quickly as they'd come, he had them diving for cover amidst the wreckage to avoid getting scorched. Eventually the flames abated, and the men emerged bravely for a second attempt – but again, were met with the same.

'Los bo'zan wah kos zos wey tol!'

It's going to take more than that!

Their formation was the problem; ram-horn was too tight-knit – it gave the dragon two large, easy targets. Irileth saw this as Merrin did, and bellowed new orders accordingly.

'Split up! Distract him!'

The men scattered like leaves on the wind at her words, and started attacking more singularly. And when several rushed up at different angles nearly simultaneously, weapons ready and screaming challenge, the dragon had no choice but to engage.

Things progressed from there – but Merrin was just one of many wishing that they would go more smoothly. From her place with Irileth on the ramparts, she could see the men darting up and away, taking jabs whenever they could, trying to be quick enough to dodge disaster. But while they'd landed several jabs, it wasn't nearly enough, and barely seemed to slow the dragon down. And the archers fared no better – though their small group loosed arrow after arrow with steady hands, most of them merely glanced off the scales that made up the dragon's sturdy armor. With no wings or underbelly exposed, making their mark seemed all but impossible.

Even Irileth, who was still relying on her frost magic, could barely land a blow. She sent two spikes flying on a perfect path to the flesh of the dragon's throat – and let out a vicious curse when he shifted in the nick of time, and both missiles exploded harmlessly off of the horny plate of his shoulder instead.

Watching them all, it was plain to see that they'd never faced anything like this before. It was only a matter of time before they made a mistake.

It started with a guard who got too close when he tried to stab the dragon in the neck. Mirmulnir reared up and out of his reach, and then before any of them could do a thing, he came down again in a blur of movement. With his mouth open wide and fangs flashing, he engulfed the entire upper half of the man's body; they could dimly hear the screaming as those fangs came clamping down. In the blink of an eye the dragon had lifted the man clear off the ground, and started to shake his head back and forth, like a sabre-cat did to a rabbit. Then he released his grip just as suddenly, and several of them watched in horror as the man flew a dozen feet, landing in a bloody heap on the rocks, broken and unmoving.

This lit a fire in a few of the men, and they screamed with fresh fury as they bore down wildly on the dragon. But Mirmulnir was ready for them. One man caught the full brunt of his sweeping, spiky tail; another was batted away like a fly by an outstretched hand with claws like meat-hooks. Both were sent sprawling through the air; one bashed his helmeted head off a rock, and the other landed on his own broken spear. Neither made any move to rise.

'No!' Irileth snarled beside her through clenched teeth, and Merrin saw from the corner of her eye as the dunmer raised both hands to let loose another volley. But all she produced was a pathetic mist of frost—the elf had exhausted her magicka.

'Damn it!' Not wasting a second, the housecarl shook her head as she ripped her steel sword from its sheath, and shouted to Merrin and the others around her.

'Keep it up! Make every arrow count!' And then with a fearless yell, she leapt straight off the ramparts to the ground several feet below, landed in a graceful crouch, and sprinted off to join in the melee.

Merrin cursed as she nocked a new arrow and drew it back. Her heart did a flip in her chest when she saw Farkas duck beneath the dragon's swiping arm, graceful as a dancer, to drag away a man who'd tripped over a shield and was in danger of being stepped on. She loosed that arrow with a sharp exhale, and that arrow burying itself to half-shaft in the meat of Mirmulnir's reaching arm was the only thing that stopped him from taking a swipe at Farkas' unarmored back. As the dragon ripped the arrow out with a scream, she cast her eyes skyward and grit her teeth, her thoughts pounding to the same desperate rhythm as her heart: this isn't enough!

It was at that moment there came a sudden swell of noise to their left—the sound of many yelling voices—and an arrow came whizzing into her view to bury itself deep in Mirmulnir's neck. And when Merrin and several others turned their heads in bewilderment, none could believe their eyes.

Fully armored and with weapons drawn and raised, the Companions of Jorrvaskr were sprinting in a line toward them. Skjor and Aela, Torvar, Athis and Ria—even Vilkas! As they drew nearer and others saw them, a scattered cheer rose up among the fighting men.

'The Companions!'

'Come on! Take heart!'

Merrin was speechless with surprise as she watched them roll in; Skjor was the first to see her up on the ramparts, and at the look on her face, his broke into a wild grin.

'Come now, newblood,' he roared above the din. 'You didn't think we'd let you have all the glory, did you?!' He beat his sword against his shield, and laughed as he charged off toward the dragon with Vilkas right behind him.

'We're here for you, Merrin!' The next voice was Ria's, bright and strong, and her friend waved at her with her shield arm as she and Torvar ran into the fray.

The only one to falter was Athis, bringing up the rear. He skidded to a halt with his short swords dangling slack in his hands, and his ashen face was pale as he stared up at the thrashing dragon ahead. His mouth moved, but no one could hear his mumbled words.

'...Azura's arse...it's really real!'

'Come on, sister.' Aela had run up the ramparts, and she came to stand at Merrin's side as she called to her. The huntress was stoic and calm as she lifted her bow and nocked another arrow, and her green eyes narrowed as she locked on her prey.

'Let's show this brute what we're made of.'

It was a timely entrance, typical of the Companion's reputation for glory and skill, and one that would be spoken of for years to come. In that moment, Merrin had no idea what had compelled them to join in – but she was hardly about to complain. Drawing and loosing another arrow, Merrin hardened her focus to a sharp point, and questions fell to the wayside.

The sudden arrival of fresh new fighters had clearly caught the dragon off-guard. 'Nu wo meyz?!' He roared – now who comes?! – and let out another shooting gout of flame in an effort to force back his many attackers. He reared on his hind legs with his good wing spread in challenge, and bellowed his words at the Companions. 'Rax wah ruus!' – My teeth to your neck!

Before long, it was starting to look as if the Companion's added force was what they'd needed to tip the scales. They were all of them ferocious fighters, and even though the dragon was vicious, he couldn't be looking everywhere at once. He was being forced to rear and dodge more, and wherever he wasn't looking, men with spears or one of the Companions was darting in to strike.

It was inexperience that caused the slip-up. Irileth had the dragon's attention from trying to slash into his side, when he noticed Ria coming up on his flank. Without any warning at all, he whipped his head around to face the Imperial, and Shouted. Ria was sent flying, and then landed on her back in the grass, winded and unable to scramble away. The dragon pivoted as Merrin watched in horror, faster than she would've thought possible, and bore down on her friend. In that instant, Torvar came diving to Ria's aid, war axe and shield both aloft – but the dragon's moving body blocked them both from view.

'Oh, gods!' Merrin's heart seemed to stop as she whipped her hand up to grab another arrow, feeling helpless and too far away. And then the sensation doubled when she grabbed at nothing but air – and realized her quiver was empty.

No! These people were her friends – they were here because of her! She had to do something!

Pitching her bow aside, Merrin took a page from Irileth's book and leapt straight from the ramparts to the ground below. She barely felt the pain jolting up her legs, and took off sprinting toward the chaos.

If a blow was coming to Ria and Torvar, she knew she was too far away to stop it. But she'd be damned if she was going to just stand there and watch. When she spotted a discarded spear lying in the grass, she grabbed it, hardly breaking stride. Skjor came cutting swiftly into her view at the dragon's head, bellowing with his steel sword raised, and Merrin's heart thumped furiously as she pushed herself even harder. Men were rushing to attack the dragon's rear where he'd left himself open, but what if it wasn't enough?

It was the rear that she was closest to, and she flitted through a gap between two men and drove her spear into the dragon's flank with all of the force of her panicked sprint.

Too much force; the spear buried itself deep into the meat of Mirmulnir's thigh, a solid blow that had him jerking and screaming. But her momentum had built up past where she could rein it, and the shaft of the spear burned the palms of her hands as she crashed directly into the dragon. Her head was rattled inside her helmet, which got knocked from her head by the dragon's jostling movement. The impact had her bouncing back, momentarily dazed, and her vision blurred around the edges.

It was likely the blow that made her slow to react. She heard the clattering of the men falling back, heard them calling to her...

'Fall back! Look out!'

But too late. The dragon's tail came whipping around in a fast arc, and with the spear wrenched from her hands, Merrin was powerless to block it. She stumbled aside, and managed to miss the brunt of the blow – but the tail's sharp dorsal sliced her as it flicked by. It left a decent gash along her hairline—which would've been protected if she hadn't lost her helmet—and even as she dove for cover, she could feel the blood starting to ooze.

The pain of this fresh wound jolted her from her momentary fog, and Merrin cursed as she rolled to the side, away from the dragon, and swiped at the blood running into her left eye. She had no choice now but to draw her sword, glancing up as she did so – and felt a swell of relief at the sight of Ria and Torvar, running to join Vilkas at the dragon's side. A cold stab hit her as she realized she couldn't see Skjor—or Farkas, for that matter. But she shoved it ruthlessly aside as she gave her eye another swipe; she had to focus.

Dodge, jump, slash, stab. The rhythm of battle settled in Merrin the way a blanket of snow settled over a mountain; steadily, bit by bit, and then in a heavy layer. The people fighting at her sides kept changing. A couple of guards – Athis, having found his courage – Vilkas, there and then gone – Irileth – Ria – Farkas, the sight of him weaving and dodging so gracefully beside her lifting her spirits. The dragon had taken to bellowing furiously as he fought with blind rage – with everything he had. Twice, her complete focus was the only thing that saved her from a sweeping raze of fire.

The balance tipped when the dragon did – quite literally. Mirmulnir had twisted to defend his injured side, when Farkas and several city guards all dropped their shields, double-handed their spears, and drove them into the side he wasn't guarding. With a bellowing heave, the men toppled the dragon like a deep-rooted oak. He fell with a crash and a bellow of pain onto his wounded arm, and before he'd even fully settled, their group had fallen in, raining a hail of stabs into his newly exposed underbelly.

The dragon gave an awful moan that yanked on Merrin's heart-strings, his eyes blown wide as he stared down at them and lashed out futilely with arm and tail.

'Viik? Vonmindoraan!'

Defeat? Incomprehensible!

His tone of voice was so out of place that it jarred Merrin, even in her focus – it was agonized, to be sure...but he sounded more surprised than bothered! It didn't make any sense!

And then something even stranger happened; the dragon started to smoke. As Merrin watched, curls of it started to waft up from the countless wounds they'd inflicted, making his entire body seem to steam. For a second, it went unnoticed, but then there was shouting from several of their group, and they more or less all scrambled back, fearing the new development.

Mirmulnir went suddenly rigid when he saw it, letting out a sharp blast of steaming air, and then he whipped his head to the side. He stared straight at Merrin nearby, their gazes locking like a set of iron shackles, and she could plainly see total shock in those tawny orbs...fury. Fear. A voice she would normally recognize called out for her to move away, but she couldn't – she was rooted in place.

The sight of him lying there wrenched at her heart. Smoking from what looked like a thousand wounds, streams of red trickling from his stomach to soak the ground, those marvelous wings in tatters...he was majesty, laid low and broken. She gasped at this sudden, unfamiliar pain. Mirmulnir spoke again, and his deep voice was shaky with unmistakeable fear.

'D...Dovahkiin? Nii nis kos! Niiiid!'

D...Dragonborn? It can't be! Noooo!

The last word was a keening wail, filled with unbelievable despair, and then he let his great head fall with an audible thud to the plain. He glared at her, accusatory, and there was such fear and pain in those eyes that Merrin felt her own fill with tears. Her heart was absolutely thundering.

The blood was positively rushing from him now, and the fierce light in his eyes was starting to fade. With enormous effort, he dragged his free arm over until it was pointing in her direction, and levelled two taloned fingers straight at her.

'Zu'u los...gruthaan.'

They were his final words; hardly spoken louder than the wind. But despite the fact that she had barely heard him over the roar of blood in her ears, they pounded at her brain like a battering ram as those eyes rolled up into his head, and his entire body sagged.

I am...betrayed.

In that moment, the smoking increased dramatically; the body of Mirmulnir was engulfed in pale, misty grey. Again, some men behind her shouted, their voices full of fear and confusion.

'What is it? What's happening?!'

'Everybody, stay back,' Irileth barked.

'Merrin!'

Farkas' voice was the last thing she heard, before it happened.

With a startling woosh, the corpse in front of them burst into yellow flames, licking up toward the blue sky above. And as it did, a golden-white light started gathering, ethereal as it coalesced, whipping around the body with a sound like whistling wind. For a heartbeat, the maelstrom of wind and light crackled around what was left of Mirmulnir – and then with terrifying speed, it shot out in tendrils and went arcing straight into Merrin's chest.

More shouting – wild, alarmed, afraid. But Merrin barely heard it, this time. At the touch of that unworldly light, her entire body had gone rigid. A spherical whirl of it was surrounding her, engulfing her, blocking her from the view of all those around her, and she could see nothing beyond its brightness.

Then it truly entered her; heart, mind, soul – and she saw everything.

All at once, her very essence was teeming with such an immense energy that it felt as if she would blast apart. Seething, roiling, white-hot and weightless; terrible and beautiful. Entirely overwhelming, and utterly fulfilling. Words in a language she'd never spoken were being chanted in her head – like blood pumping through a heart furiously pounding – and they were as familiar to her then as the sound of her own heartbeat. She was sharing the space in her mind, the air in her lungs with an entity that was separate, and yet undeniably of her. It twined with her even as it railed against her, and Merrin saw things she'd never seen – knew truths she'd never known. She felt emotions that weren't hers, even as they burrowed into her.

Immense, wild joy – thunderous rage. Fierce pride, and stark terror. A howling, bleak longing. She let loose a ripping gasp when that bone-deep yearning was coupled with a sudden image of endless sky, the warmth of the sun on her back. Tears of grief and wonder spilled from her open, sightless eyes as all at once, this separate force became known to her – a part of her. For one fleeting instant that yawned outside of time, Merrin felt her spirit soar...her feet had never left the ground, and yet now, she knew how it felt to fly. Deep inside her, something that had never stirred before came bursting into life at that feeling.

'Mirmulnir,' she choked.

Kaal do Bormahu.

His voice came ringing through her mind, singing through her blood, stirring from her soul.

Chosen of Akatosh.

For a split second, they were in perfect harmony – knew one another completely. She didn't wonder at what he'd called her – didn't think to be bothered.

Then the energy shifted. All of the strength and joy and force that had been Mirmulnir was laid to rest inside of her – made a part of her. For a second, all she could hear was the thrum of chanting voices, and all she could see was pure white light. And then all of it – the light, the voices, the shared space, the soar – all of it settled with a vacuous pop and the world came crashing back in around her.

Somehow, she was still on her feet. But she felt so small. Her head was swimming, and her stomach was pitching so badly that she clutched it with both hands, sure she would be sick. Her vision was limned in fading white-gold light, and everything was too loud; her heartbeat was pounding in her ears, and the whispering wind seemed to scream at her. When somebody finally spoke, she nearly jumped straight out of her skin.

'Merrin...what–?'

It was Farkas who had spoken. As she whirled around with wild eyes to face him, she saw that he'd gone very pale, and he held his hands up in a gesture of peace, even as he stared at her in shock. She tried to answer him, but couldn't find her voice. Still clutching her stomach, she looked beyond him.

Everybody was staring at her. Irileth, the surviving guards, and all of the Companions present...everybody. Every face was full of shock, and then a number of other things, besides. The entire group was swathed in stunned silence. And then a guard took one halting step toward her – the guard from the market square, the one who'd torn Mirmulnir's wing – and pulled his helmet from his shaggy blonde head. His blue eyes were wide as he called out to her in a voice full of shaky disbelief.

'I don't believe it...the legends are true! You – you're Dragonborn!'

There it was; that word, spoken not by a roaring dragon, or within the confines of her mind. It had a rippling effect on the crowd, like a stone tossed into a pool, and the mutters and murmurs began.

'What?'

'No, impossible!'

It had an effect on Merrin, too – the roiling pressure in her stomach spiked, and so did the old panic in her chest. All at once, it came slamming back into her, so that her knees nearly buckled, and her eyes blew wide.

'No. I can't be,' she gasped.

It just wasn't possible. In that consuming wave of anxiety, her thoughts were a seething spur of denial. A large part of her conscious was racing backward in time, years falling away as she stood there, to memories echoing in her mind – memories of stories she'd been told.

The Dragonborn – rare and peerless warriors stretching back into time immemorial, blessed in the eyes of Akatosh. They alone had the means to truly kill a dragon, to shatter its immortal coil and harness the power within for their own...

'I didn't do anything,' she insisted, and hardly recognized her own voice.

'I know what I saw!' The guard was insistent, and his eyes beseeched her. 'You absorbed its soul! The dragon's soul went into you, just now!'

'It didn't,' she grated. 'There has to be some explanation...' For what just happened to me. Something real. Something sane.

'Look behind you, woman!' He waved his arms wildly in her direction. 'You had to have done – there's nothing left!'

Whirling on a jagged breath, Merrin turned to stare with wide eyes at the corpse of the dragon behind her – at all that was left of Mirmulnir. What she saw had her blanching, reeling.

Bones. No meat, no skin, no sinew...just a scattering of loose scales in the bloody dirt, and a skeleton, gleaming as clean and white as if it'd been bleached by time and the sun.

Impossible – impossible. And yet, right there in front of her! She clamped a hand over her mouth and hunched her shoulders, and the awful pressure in her chest and stomach mounted. Merrin's head spun; never in her life had she felt so disoriented. In the back of her mind, a voice whispered, words from a book she'd read years ago: 'A dragon's soul is all to him – his heart, his might...even his flesh. Without it, he will be nothing...'

'Hold on.' Farkas again, this time sounding diplomatic. From where he stood among the others, he strode towards her now, and came to stand just behind her. He put a hand on her shoulder; looked down at her with worried eyes when she gave a heavy flinch. Lifting his gaze over the top of her head, he met the eye of the guard in front of them, and tried to reason with the man.

'I'll be the first to agree that something weird just happened. But the Dragonborn isn't real – they're just a story.'

'That's where you're wrong, friend.' The guard gave a stubborn jerk of his head, and put his hands on his hips as he looked up at Farkas. 'Don't you know your Temple dogma? Talos himself was Dragonborn, way back when he was still Tiber Septim! He had the dragon blood, too!'

Somewhere beside him, another guard scoffed, and shook his head.

'There were no dragons back then, idiot! They've just come back now, for the first time in...forever! How could Talos have dragon blood without any dragons around?'

'Wait.' Another couple of guards had crept cautiously closer to where Merrin and Farkas stood by the remains. One of them was bald and graying, with a vivid scar slashing over his nose, and he was looking doubtful as he stared at her. He was speaking to the man who'd scoffed.

'He might have a point, Jorric. When I was a boy, my grand-dad told us stories about warriors born with dragon spirits. Sure, it was a long time ago, but we've got it recorded – real historical writs, done for Jarls and Emperors! Would they tell tales in those?'

'What a load of horseshit.'

This last came from Vilkas; striding angrily up between the guards, he planted himself beside the first who'd spoken, and all eyes fell to him as he crossed his arms over his chestplate. He was sporting a split lip, and a dark bruise bloomed along the side of his jaw. If he was reeling from his fight with a beast that he'd stubbornly insisted wasn't real, it didn't show; his narrowed eyes were hard as he regarded her, and his chin had an obstinate tilt.

'I don't know what this is, but it isn't a fairy-story. It's simple – if she were really Dragonborn, then she'd be able to Shout. That's what all the stories say, no?'

His words had an obvious ring of challenge, and as soon as he'd said them, every pair of eyes re-fixed themselves onto the woman in question. Some of the expressions around her spoke clearly: could she?

But Merrin didn't see them; she was preoccupied. While the men around her had bickered back and forth, the pressure she'd initially taken for nausea had mounted into something altogether different. A powerful swelling sensation had taken over her abdomen, her chest wall, her lungs. Panicked, she had tried to exclaim, and found that she was mute once more...then her ears had started to ring, the edges of her vision had blurred again. Worst of all, she'd started to hear those chanting voices again, steadily growing from whisper to shout, repeating one word over and over...

Force – force – force – FORCE –

The pressure was mounting mercilessly, climbing steadily up her throat – it felt like she was going to explode!

By the time all eyes returned to her, she had clamped a hand over her mouth, and was bending slightly at the waist, brown eyes wide with fear. Several seconds passed like that, with everybody staring tense and silent. Vilkas was the first to speak, and he looked and sounded triumphant as he turned back to the guards.

'There, you see? No Shouting. She looks like she's about to throw—'

'FUS!'

The pressure in Merrin burst free at that moment in a clapping boom of sound that drowned out every other noise. A shock-wave came barrelling out of her mouth with so much force that the small group of men who'd collected in front of her were bowled over by it, Vilkas included; swept right off of their feet and sent tumbling in the dirt. She herself went flying backwards, slamming into Farkas' unarmored chest. He stumbled, and the only thing keeping her from falling to the ground was his thick arm circling her waist. The sound of her amplified voice went echoing in waves out over the plain beyond them, persistent before it faded to nothing.

There was a heartbeat of shocked silence in the clearing; the only thought Merrin had room for was one of relief, at the pressure having left her. And then—

'The Thu'um! She uses the Thu'um!'

The guard who'd insisted she was Dragonborn had scrambled to his knees in the grass, and his voice was awe-struck as he shouted those words, his dirty face radiant as he stared at her. He grinned hugely, not seeming to care that he'd just been sent sprawling, and thrust a hand out toward her.

'She bears the blood of Akatosh!'

The group around her had stood stunned and frozen – now, as Merrin's breath caught in her throat, they stirred back to life. Farkas was the first, gingerly sliding his arm from her waist as he looked down at her dark, tousled head.

'Ysmir's beard, Mer...'

Across to their right, Athis whistled, and swore softly in dunmeris. Gaping beside him, Torvar shook his head, and chimed in very eloquently:

'...Holy shit!'

The guard who'd called her Dragonborn was looking triumphant as he hauled himself from the dirt; since he'd spoken, a steady murmur had broken out between the rest of the guard – now they were buzzing like a hive. It was one thing to hear wild claims – another thing entirely to see proof of them. And what they'd all just witnessed wasn't something to be explained away. Over the swell of talk, individuals started to make themselves heard.

'By the gods, he's right!'

'How can this be? A Dragonborn!'

'She really used the Voice just now! Incredible!'

Pale faces were turning to look at her, and as she stared back, she saw fear, shock...wonder...joy. The Companions stood among them, and the faces of her friends didn't look much different.

The last face she landed on belonged to Vilkas – and there was something different. While the guards she'd blown over had all clambered to their feet, he remained sitting in the dirt where he'd landed. He was staring right at her, but his gaze was oddly shuttered, and his face was cold and impassive as he looked at her. It was the kind of look one would give to a stranger that they had no desire to meet – closed off completely. As they stared, a guard next to Vilkas reached down a hand, offering to help him gain his feet. But Vilkas' upper lip curled, and he batted the hand away with a sneer, his eyes never leaving hers. Something about the muted contempt in them had Merrin bristling, and she looked away fighting a sneer of her own.

It had all happened in a matter of moments; in a couple more, the weight of reality was crashing back in. As the group of people around her kept talking, Merrin's thoughts turned inward.

She was absolutely reeling. What she knew to be impossible was out of line with what she'd just seen – with what she'd just done. Accepting the words being pushed onto her felt ludicrous, ridiculous...but there was no denying thefacts.

She had heard another language being chanted inside her head. She had understood Mirmulnir as they fought, and had...merged with him somehow, as he died. And she had just Shouted – something no one could do, without years of dedicated training.

No one...save for a single exception, according to the legends.

Merrin was pulled from her thoughts with a shudder when one guard called out louder than the rest, across the clearing to the woman who'd gathered them.

'What do you make of this, Irileth? You're bein' awfully quiet.'

The Dunmer woman had strode up to the remains of the dragon behind them, sharp eyes roving over the bones. Now she turned to face the group, and those same eyes flashed as she gave a snort, and raked a hand through her dark red hair.

'What do I think? I think there's little point in standing here, flapping your gums about things you don't understand. Behind us is a dead dragon.' She jabbed one dark, slender hand toward the bones, and a triumphant fire lit her garnet eyes.

'That is something I fully understand. Now we know we can kill them. And in front of us...' The elf's gaze flicked now to Merrin, and her expression went appraising.

'Is a mystery. Dragonborn or no...' – this part said in a skeptical tone – 'anyone who can take down a dragon is good enough for me. The rest is hardly my concern.'

'Aw, come on, Irileth! How can you—'

'And it is hardly any of yours, either,' she cut over him firmly; just like that, she was all business again, and raised her voice commandingly to address the entire group.

'We've stood around gawping long enough! Guards, I want our dead counted and gathered, and our wounded taken up to Kynareth's temple. Your Captain will need to be informed as to what happened here, and the same man who delivers that message will run to the hall of the dead and warn Arkay's priests of the bodies incoming. When you're finished, the lot of you can head to the barracks – get some rest. A fresh detail will be sent out to start the clean-up.'

Several guards gave a 'yes, Ser!' and broke away to follow her orders; Merrin could feel the weight of their stares as many of them craned for one last look, and heard their excited whispering before they moved out of earshot. Irileth coolly ignored them, and levelled her stare instead on the Companions gathered round.

'Of course, the Companions can do as they please,' she went on briskly. 'Your aid would be welcomed here, but if you wish to return to Whiterun immediately, it's no matter. I must take my leave presently – Jarl Balgruuf awaits my report.'

And then the housecarl turned to look carefully at Merrin; her expression was wary as she regarded her.

'I think you'd better come with me...the Jarl will likely wish to speak with you, when he hears of...what happened.'

What could she say? Merrin was still very much in shock. Looking uncertainly around, her eyes caught on Aela, reaching out to a limping Skjor, and then on Ria, who seemed blessedly unharmed. Her friend's dark eyes were full of worry as they met her own, and Ria mouthed something across the clearing that Merrin couldn't make out. What? After a second, Merrin dragged her eyes back to Irileth's and nodded, once.

'Fine.'

The gathering scattered; feeling clumsy and drained, Merrin followed Irileth's lead as she turned from the dragon and the damaged tower and started back over the plain. She was bone tired, now—and felt an unspeakable rush of gratitude when a sudden shadow fell over her, and she felt Farkas wrap an arm around her, taking some of her weight. In his other hand, he was holding her fallen helmet. She looked up at him wordlessly, but her expression must have said enough, because he nodded and shot her a reassuring smile.

'I'm sticking with you.'

'...Thanks.'

They were surpassed by a single guard who'd been chosen as messenger, as the three of them made their way to the city; the afternoon sun was starting to set now, and their shadows were stretching unnaturally long on a slant ahead of them, rippling over the grass. Their progress was somewhat slow. Every step sent a jolt through her aching legs – her palms were raw and burning from the spear shaft. The cut on her forehead was throbbing. Farkas wasn't unscathed, either; he'd come out remarkably well, but the arm that wasn't around her had a long scratch, raw and red and crusted in blood.

When they were most of the way there, it happened.

One second, there'd been nothing but breeze, and the sound of their trudging footsteps. The next had the very air around them being split by a sound so loud that the earth beneath their feet rumbled with it! Coming from the sky, from the mountain, across the plain, rolling and crashing like the peak of a storm – a chorus of voices, too loud to be believed, calling out a single word:

'DOVAHKIIN!'

'Woah!' Farkas let out a startled oath as the three of them stumbled to a halt, wide eyes flitting across the sky, searching for the cause of the impossible sound. In the distance ahead, there was another spat of panicked whinnies from the horses in Whiterun's stable. All the muscles in Merrin's abdomen clenched, and she gritted her teeth as she braced for something – anything.

But nothing else came. The voices faded to nothing, the rumbling stopped, and aside from the horses and their shouting grooms, quiet returned to the plain. Irileth was the first to move – shooting them a look that seemed to say 'what now?' – and urged them to keep on walking. The stablemaster's son called out to them as they passed, but Irileth shouted curtly back that they were on Jarl's business and couldn't stop.

Walking through the city gates and down the main street felt like walking through a carnival on stilts. The loudest of the dragon's screams had carried into the city ahead of them – even if they hadn't, there was still the booming call from the skies. People had come spilling out of their homes, halted the day's activity, and now as Irileth led Merrin and Farkas through the Plains district, people stared from every threshold, or stood waiting in the streets. They looked scared, confused; as their little group passed, more than a few men and women called after them, asking questions.

'What was that? What's going on?!'

'Is there really a dragon?!'

'What happened out there? Who was that, shouting?'

Irileth looked increasingly harried as they pressed on; in a bark that held little reassurance, she told the citizens to return to their work – that the situation was handled, and to let the Jarl and the city guard do their jobs in peace. Bureaucracy had never been the woman's strong suit, and she had to work to leash her fraying nerves as she marched them through the market square.

The guards at the front doors of Dragonsreach went springing aside when they came into view; one look at Irileth's face had them shoving the heavy oak open wide.

The first person they saw on the other side was Balgruuf's steward, Proventus; he was standing in the hall's vestibule, and as soon as he saw them he came rushing forward with his brown eyes wide and his thin lips working.

'Thank the Eight, you're finally back! He's been waiting for you!'

'Thank you, Proventus,' Irileth snapped, loud and sarcastic. 'I never would've guessed!' She brushed past the Imperial with a glare and Merrin and Farkas followed, leaving the wiry man to hurry behind them, huffing and looking sour.

The Jarl had been pacing in front of his throne, both hands clasped behind his back. To the left of the throne stood his mage, Farengar, and the burly blond warrior in well-worn scale that had to be a brother or cousin. They'd been looking to Balgruuf, but the second Irileth's angry voice marked her arrival, all three men had peered keenly straight ahead. Balgruuf stopped in his tracks, and his hands came unclasped as he reached out to them.

'You've returned.' His voice was strained, and he clawed both hands through his dark blonde mane before he fixed his housecarl with steely blue eyes. 'I've been waiting for word. What have you to report?'

Irileth didn't stand on ceremony; rather than take to one knee before him, she simply nodded and straightened her shoulders, red hair and eyes glinting in the firelight.

'Your guard spoke true, Balgruuf. There really was a dragon. It attacked the watchtower.'

Balgruuf cursed. 'What happened? What of my men? And the dragon?'

'We arrived on the scene to find wreckage and casualties. While we were searching for survivors, the dragon returned and attacked again.' She spoke swiftly, dispassionately.

'The tower is heavily damaged, but reparable. We lost several men, total count pending. And we have several wounded. The dragon is dead.'

The Jarl had opened his mouth to continue, but was interrupted by Farengar, unable to contain his enthusiasm.

'Dead? You must tell us more! What did the dragon look like? What could it do? Have you disturbed the remains? I need to assemble a team at once, and go down to collect—'

'That's enough, Farengar!' Balgruuf had to shout over his excited mage, and scowled. 'Still yourself! Now is no time for your academics.' He seemed to sag as he dragged a hand wearing several rings over his weathered face, and re-settled his attention on Irileth.

'Have the Kynareth priestesses been made aware? The Hall of the Dead?'

'They have.' Irileth nodded. 'And Commander Caius as well. A messenger was chosen to come in ahead of us. As soon as the wounded have been carted to the Temple, a fresh round of men will be heading out to start clean-up.'

'Well done. I—'

'Jarl Balgruuf...if I could interject?'

This came from Proventus Avenicci; the man had retaken his place beside the throne, and now he stared at them with lips tightly pursed, and hands clamped together. When the Jarl turned around to look at him darkly, he hurried on in a deferential tone.

'I beg your pardon, Jarl, but something is amiss! None of what your competent housecarl had told us explains the rumbling shout we heard, before they arrived! Surely, it must've had something to do with this dragon, no?'

Merrin stiffened at those words, but no one noticed. Balgruuf's armor-clad relation turned to scowl at Proventus, and his thickly-accented voice was raised in agitation when he spoke.

'I already told my brother where the shouting came from, man! Weren't you listening?'

Proventus blinked, frowning. 'Well, I hardly—'

'My Jarl.' Irileth had taken another step forward, and her back was ram-rod straight as she cut over Proventus.

'...There's more to report.'

Balgruuf held up a hand toward Proventus and his brother, and frowned with a furrowed brow at the Dunmer.

'More? What have you?'

The elven woman didn't sound quite so neutral as before – her tone was dry, and her auburn brows quirked. Staring at her Jarl, she grimaced.

'As the dragon died, it started to smoke, and then it burst into some kind of flame. A golden light came out from the body and then...it went shooting into the woman behind me.' She turned her head to glance at Merrin from the corner of her eye, and then took a single step to the side, revealing her to the men of the court.

'Merrin Hakonsdotter – the woman who's aid you requested, for her presence at Helgen. She absorbed the light somehow, and then...well ser, I know it sounds outlandish, but she seems to have Shouted. The men who were there are now claiming she is...Dragonborn.' She hesitated on the last word, as if she found the conjecture distasteful, and Merrin's stomach gave another lurch as it pervaded the silent throne room.

All four men had levelled rapt focus on her the moment Irileth let her into view; four sets of eyes had widened as the Dunmer spoke. Now Balgruuf and Farengar had opened their mouths to speak – but the Jarl's brother beat them both to it. He took a surging step toward her, and his rough-hewn face was alight with joy, his eyes full of wonder.

'By the Eight Divines – I knew it!' he crowed. His features were slashed by crimson warpaint, and the slashes warped as he grinned from ear to ear.

'I was right! To think I would have the honor of it happening in my life-time!'

'Hrongar, calm yourself!' Proventus quipped suddenly. He looked derisively at the much bigger man, and waved his arms. 'Now is no time for this Nord nonsense!'

The Jarl's brother drew up short – turned to stare at the steward. His eyes bulged in shocked insult, his cheeks grew swiftly red, and he balled his fists as he took a lurching step towards Proventus.

'Nord – Nord nonsense?!' He growled. 'How dare you, you puffed up, ignorant little—'

'Hrongar!' Balgruuf shouted his brother's name, and he whipped his head around to fix him with a harsh, steely glare.

'You heard him,' Hrongar shouted back. 'He's insulting our ancient traditions! He is unworthy of witnessing this!'

'Hrongar, peace,' Balgruuf said firmly. 'Don't be so hard on Avenicci. Our traditions are not his own. Only fools never doubt.'

'I meant no offense, of course,' Proventus mumbled; he'd gone pale and splotchy, and he avoided Hrongar's eyes as he talked. 'It's just...just so hard to believe!'

Hrongar looked like he had plenty more to say – instead, he just huffed.

After Irileth's declaration, the Jarl had taken several steps back, until his throne was just behind him. Now in the silence, he sank down onto it, and gripped the armrests tightly. His blue eyes latched onto Irileth, then Farkas – then landed squarely on Merrin.

'Proventus, let Hrongar talk.' He sighed.

His steward scowled; his brother smirked. Taking a few steps forward, Hrongar planted himself in front of Merrin, and crossed his rippling arms over his chest. His dark blue gaze was serious, as if he were drinking her in. When he spoke, his voice held a trace of his earlier excitement.

'My lady, do you know the great honor you've been given?'

It was the first time since she'd entered the throne room that someone had spoken directly to her, and not just about her. Normally it would make her waspish – but this time, she'd been grateful. She felt as if she were in a dream – somebody else's dream – and words were hard to come by. After a long beat of silence, Merrin just shrugged at him helplessly; she'd let him come to his point on his own.

Hrongar clearly didn't mind; his eyes re-lit with enthusiasm, and his voice boomed toward the rafters.

'That thundering sound you heard out on the plain – it was the Thu'um of the Greybeards, calling you to High Hrothgar!'

Shock stabbed through her at these words like a pike through the chest. She gaped at him, open-mouthed, and finally found her voice.

'The...Greybeards?'

He was grinning again, and didn't seem to notice her going pale.

'It's amazing! History in the making! This hasn't happened in centuries – not since they called to Tiber Septim himself, when he was still Talos of Atmora!'

Farengar stepped forward then, lowering his hood, and his pale eyes flickered in the light of the fire as he stared at her shrewdly.

'When the light and fire cleared away, did anything remain of the dragon?' He asked quietly.

'Only bones,' she replied with difficulty.

The mage whistled, nodded.

'Then there's little doubt in my mind - you absorbed its soul. Only the Dragonborn could do as much.'

It was like a hammer driving home a nail; she could do nothing to argue their claims, and her shoulders slumped beneath the weight. She didn't want to bear their scrutiny – didn't want to be floundering in the face of the impossible. She met his curious gaze, but had no words to answer him with.

'So my brother was right.'

Balgruuf spoke now, softly. Amazement shone from his weary face, and his deep blue eyes were awed as he slowly shook his head.

'When the din came down, Hrongar swore that it was a summons from High Hrothgar. I didn't believe him – when have the monks ever troubled themselves with the world beneath the clouds? What could suffice to grab their attention? But now...' His soft voice trailed off for a moment, and the only sound in the room was of flickering fire.

'Something about your fight with that dragon made them notice that you exist,' he continued. 'They heard your Thu'um, and have called you to them with their own.'

'So you believe this woman to be Dragonborn, Balgruuf?' This was Irileth's question; her lips were pursed as she stared at her Jarl, and her voice had an unmaskable twinge of incredulity.

Balgruuf's full mouth turned up in a smirk as he cast his eyes to his friend and housecarl. 'I know you've always been a skeptic, Irileth. Normally, so am I.' His eyes flicked back to Merrin, and he gestured to her with one large hand.

'But if the Greybeards think she's Dragonborn, who are we to argue?'

Irileth let out a tiny tsk and crossed her arms, but said no more. Balgruuf leaned forward on his throne, and spoke to Merrin again. He noted the woman's unhealthy color as he did so, and frowned.

'This is out of my hands, kinsman. A summons from the Greybeards cannot go unanswered. You should take some rest to restore yourself, and then you must make haste to Ivarstead – summit the path to their monastery.' At the look on her face, his softened, and his next words were spoken kindly, in an attempt to reassure her.

'Take heart. If you really are Dragonborn, the Greybeards will know it. They'll be able to help you hone your gifts – and the Thu'um is a gift. Of that, there's no doubt.'

Merrin had no response for him – her thoughts were awhirl, and her heart was pounding in her chest. All she managed was a nod.

'Lady Dragonborn.' Hrongar came walking up to Merrin now, stopping directly in front of her, and he beat his fist against his chestplate before falling to one knee, head bowed before her.

'Have you any trusted allies to accompany you, on your journey to High Hrothgar?' He sounded proud, and more than a little reverent.

'If not, it would be my great honor to offer you my services, in seeing you up the mountain.'

Before she could do more than blink, Farkas put a hand on her shoulder, and said his first words since entering the city.

'She's with the Companions, milord. She has plenty of 'trusted allies' to choose from.' There was an unfriendly edge to his normally mellow voice, and he stared down at the Jarl's brother with drawn brows and a frown. Even in her daze, something about it warmed Merrin.

'Of course.' Reluctantly, Hrongar got back to his feet, and nodded as he backed away from her. 'I didn't mean to impose.' His sturdy jaw was set, and his eyes held a glimmer of disappointment as he looked at them.

'Jarl Balgruuf.' Farkas took a step forward so that he stood right beside her, and then looked at the Jarl as he addressed him directly.

'Merrin has been through a lot. If she has a journey ahead of her, then she needs to rest. If there's nothing more, could we take our leave for Jorrvaskr?'

Merrin looked up at him then and shot him a grateful smile. Ahead of them, the Jarl cleared his throat.

'Of course. There's just one more matter to tend to.'

Balgruuf had settled back in his throne as he'd spoken, eyes narrowing in thought; now one hand reached up to stroke his goatee, and his lips pursed as he looked at her shrewdly.

'Since your arrival in Whiterun, you've been nothing but a great boon to my city. I feel that, all things considered, your selfless deeds call for reward.'

Merrin stared at the blonde man blankly, uncomprehending. Balgruuf stopped stroking his beard, and tipped his chin as he regarded her, steepling his hands in front of him.

'I'd like to make you a Thane of Whiterun, and offer you a place in my court.'

The words were spoken mildly, but they had a sharp effect. Merrin heard none of the tittering surprise that his statement made in the throne room – couldn't hear it, over the sudden rush of blood in her own ears. Anger was swelling in Merrin's gut, over the sentence ringing in her head:

He believes that you're Dragonborn, and now he wants to use that to his advantage.

From the moment she'd left the dragon's corpse behind, she'd had trouble finding her voice – now this pushed her over the edge, and words came spilling from her, hard and flat. She shook out from under Farkas' hand, and took a step toward the Jarl.

'I don't think so.'

These words caused more stir than the Jarl's had. Irileth turned to stare at her with her red eyes wide; beside the throne, Proventus actually gasped. Hrongar looked as if his ears had deceived him as he turned to her.

'You would deny the honor of Balgruuf's Thanehood?'

'Honor be damned,' she snapped, scowling. 'It isn't about the honor. I've just had the shock of my life, as I'm sure you could imagine, if you tried! I feel like I'm about to collapse.' She turned blazing amber eyes onto Balgruuf on his throne.

'Now is hardly the time to offer me Thanehood! So if you need my answer now, then the answer is no.'

The Jarl's face had crumpled in annoyed confusion – when was the last time anyone had denied him like this? Spoken to him this way? Slowly, he leaned forward again, brows furrowed.

'...And if I were willing to wait on your answer?'

Merrin blew out an impatient breath.

'Then it's something we might discuss, when I return from this trip I now must make. You'll forgive me that I make you no promises, Jarl or no.' She straightened up to her full height – towering over Irileth, nearly of a height with Hrongar – and stared Balgruuf down.

'Until then, I'm leaving. I have preparations to make for this trip. And I need to rest.'

Balgruuf's mouth had fallen slightly open, and in the silence that followed her words, he closed it with a snap.

'Very well. I give you my leave.'

He rose from his throne and approached her, his brocade robes whispering as he moved, and extended a hand to her. Reluctantly, Merrin took it with her own – she bent at the knee and bowed her head, as was custom. But only slightly. She tried to withdraw her hand after, but Balgruuf held it fast, and then grabbed it with the other hand as well.

'I envy you, you know. I made the pilgrimage once, in my youth, and climbed the 7,000 steps to see the monastery. It is a...peaceful place, suited to quiet reflection. Would that I could gaze out from those peaks again...' His voice and eyes were both wistful, and there was something forlorn about his expression. Then he seemed to catch himself, and shook his head.

'But no matter.' He let her hand slip from his own, and stepped away as he clasped them behind him.

'Go. Take your rest. And then make your way to High Hrothgar, and see what the Greybeards make of you.'

Merrin nodded stiffly and turned to leave, and Farkas did the same beside her. They had only taken one step, however, when a voice called out from behind them.

'Wait!'

It was Farengar – as Merrin whirled with gritted teeth toward the platform, the robed wizard came hurrying forward, hands outstretched and eyes beseeching.

Balgruuf tsked. 'Farengar, what—'

'My Jarl, I beg your pardon.' Farengar cast swift eyes to the Jarl, and then they flitted back to Merrin, keen and eager.

'Milady, I know you've had a trying day, and I don't doubt that you're keen on some respite. But you must understand the importance of what's just happened! If you truly are Dragonborn, you are the first such individual to grace our province since the end of the Septim Dynasty!'

'Your point, Farengar,' Balgruuf groaned.

'Begging your pardon, all! It's just that we've come so far since the Third Era in terms of what we can know about where flesh and magic combine.' His eyes were shining, and he looked bright and hopeful as he took another step toward her.

'I wonder if you would be so gracious, before you go, to sit for a small bout of...testing? Nothing too invasive, mind you! Just something to start—'

The Jarl didn't even have to say anything; the look that came onto the woman's face was so violent that it had the mage scrambling back, with hands held in front of him, and stammering over his words.

'O-or not! I can see I was too hasty – some rest would be far m-more important, certainly!'

---

They hadn't gone far down the stone steps from Dragonsreach when Farkas gave her a gentle nudge, and looked down at her with concern.

'Hey, how're you holding up? What are you thinking?'

Merrin sighed as she looked up at him, and didn't try to hide the emotions she knew were there on her face. She didn't want to lie – not to him.

'Honestly? It's too much at once. I think I'm going numb.'

He made a sympathetic clucking sound with his tongue, and shook his head.

'I don't blame you. I can't even imagine...'

As they came to the stairs that would lead them into Jorrvaskr, he grabbed her gently by the arm, and turned her slowly to face him.

'Mer...I just want you to know that...this doesn't change anything, with us.' His eyes were earnest as they met hers, and endlessly blue. His expression was serious, like he willed her to believe him, and he gave her bicep a reassuring squeeze as he spoke to her almost bashfully.

'I know we haven't known each other long, but you're my friend. You matter to me. And no matter if you are Dragonborn – I accept you. Okay?'

A lump had risen to lodge in her throat, and Merrin had to swallow hard before she could even nod at him. She wanted to give him another hard hug, but worried she'd start to cry; in the end she settled for a hand on his arm, and a wavering smile.

'Thank you, Farkas. That means a lot.'

He grinned back, and then nudged her again as they turned to mount the stairs.

'Y'know, it might be better than just accepting.' He chuckled. 'You being Dragonborn would be pretty bad-ass.'

She sighed, but her smile widened. 'One thing at a time. For now, it's 'if'.'

They pushed their way through the doors to the meadhall – and were met with utter silence. There wasn't a soul to be seen anywhere on the top floor, and the fire had burned low in the hearth, casting the room into shadow. Something about it made Merrin uneasy, and the two exchanged glances as the doors closed behind them.

'Huh.' He sounded puzzled; his dark brow furrowed. 'Maybe the others aren't back yet?'

Her rucksack was sitting right where she'd dropped it, when Irileth called her away; he picked it up now in an absent-minded way, and slung it over his shoulder as he looked down at Merrin.

'No big deal. Let's get you and your stuff down into your room, and get you out of your armor.'

Merrin nodded gratefully, and the two of them started across the long room.

'You could maybe take a bath, if you wanted? Once I dump your stuff, I could risk life and limb, and sneak you something from Tilma's pantry.' He was smiling again. 'You need something to eat, after a day like this.'

She actually snorted a laugh, and warmth bloomed through Merrin's chest as she looked up to smile at him. His casual attitude was exactly what she needed – a scrap of normalcy, in a sea of insanity.

'Thanks, Farkas. I really appreciate your help.'

If it wasn't so dim and shadowy, she would've sworn he blushed; he quickly averted his eyes, and shook his head.

'Ah, it's nothing.'

But the second they opened the heavy doors to the lower hall, all thoughts of a bath or sneaking food were abruptly forgotten.

Yelling; how they hadn't heard it from the floor above, Merrin had no idea. The sound of several raised, angry voices were coming from all the way down the hall – behind the closed doors of Kodlak's study.

And they'd found most of the other newbloods, too. Part-way down the hall, Ria, Athis and Torvar stood huddled together, eavesdropping on the argument seething in the study. Their heads had all whipped around at the sound of the doors to the mead hall opening; now they gawked at Merrin and Farkas, looking equal parts guilty and alarmed.

Ria came rushing instantly forward with hands outstretched, and took Merrin's hands into her own when she reached her. Her dark brown eyes were full of worry, and a flush was staining the deep tan of her cheeks.

'Merrin,' she said urgently, 'you shouldn't—'

But the Imperial woman was drowned out by the words being yelled in the study, and Merrin couldn't help but hear them. Words in Vilkas' voice.

'She should be made to leave Jorrvaskr – plain and simple! First she goes running off, and now she's apparently the Dragonborn? It's absurd! And if it's true, then she's useless to us!'

The last was punctuated with a bang – a fist on wood.

'What good is a person who's never around?! She'll never be a true Companion!'

That was it; Merrin slipped from her friend's clinging grasp, and ignored it when Ria called her name. She started storming down the hall toward the study, and Torvar and Athis jumped out of her way to avoid getting trampled. She barely even noticed the sound of Farkas hurrying after her.

'Vilkas, get ahold of yourself!' This was Skjor – his voice biting and derisive.

'Who could blame her, if she decided to take off after this? Being a Companion is nothing, next to being the Dragonborn! How thin is one woman meant to spread herself?!'

'It should still be her choice.'

Aela, sounding harsh and stony. Her distinctive voice overlapped Skjor's, and the older man fell silent.

'Last I checked, we don't throw people from our hall without a damn good reason.'

'She's a terrible influence on my brother,' Vilkas snarled. 'You saw it! One look from her, and he went charging off to fight a dragon without any gods-damned armor. I won't—'

Merrin had reached the study doors, and shoved them open with a bang that cut through his sentence.

She was completely overwrought. It was all too much for one person, one day, and now he had pushed her over the edge. As she flung herself into the room, she barely registered anyone else in it – they were colored outlines turning toward her, as she stalked toward Vilkas.

'You son of a bitch!'

She pulled up short maybe two paces from him – both her hands were shaking and fisted at her sides. Her voice was trembling and graceless, her control in tatters, but she couldn't bring herself to care.

'You've had a problem with me since the day I walked through the gods-damned door! Why? How?! You don't even know me!'

Aela tried to reach a hand for Merrin's shoulder, then. But Merrin jerked away from her, and the huntress pulled it back.

'And now you're trying to get me kicked out? For what – helping protect the city? Being the Dragonborn?' She snarled, chest heaving. 'Or is it just because you don't like me?!'

Vilkas' nostrils had flared at her words – his steely eyes were sparking with temper, and his fists were clenched at his sides. Seeing it just fuelled her fury.

'It doesn't matter – you don't matter!' she shouted. 'I'll be damned if I'm gonna leave, because some arrogant bastard says I should! I'm not—'

She was cut short by Kodlak.

'Merrin – Merrin, listen to me!'

For the first time since she'd known the man, the Harbinger had shouted – a booming shout, that echoed through the room, and had her falling silent. He'd risen from his chair with a groan, and now he placed himself between her and Vilkas, storm-grey eyes entreating her.

'No one is making you leave. Know that.'

Merrin spluttered, and jabbed a hand at Vilkas behind him. 'But he said—'

'Vilkas is being led by his emotions,' Kodlak said firmly, overriding her again. 'And not his true judgment. We are all shaken, by what's happened today. My girl, please listen to me.'

His tone had gentled as he'd spoken, and he'd ended his sentence with his usual softness.

'We're not turning you out – you may stay if you wish. But I wanted to give you time to think it over; it's a big decision you need to make. I want you to be sure of yourself.'

She knew he was trying to support her. She knew – but she couldn't accept it then, couldn't let it soften her, or she was going to lose it. She stiffened her spine and clenched her hands so hard that the nails bit into the raw, bloody palms.

'I don't need any time,' she snapped. 'I've already decided! Some of you would love it if I left, I know—' This part was aimed at Vilkas, over Kodlak's shoulder. 'But I'm not going anywhere!'

It was the truth. The burning of Helgen had severed her from the life she'd known, and built. It had hit her hard. Over the past several weeks, though, she'd begun to find something new; Jorrvaskr had given her focus, purpose...a sense of belonging. It hadn't for a second occurred to her to give that up, at any point. It may have only been a few weeks, and she was still waiting for the other boot to drop...but Dragonborn or no, with the Companions was where she wanted to stay.

But she'd bite off her own tongue before she said any of that right now. She threw her shoulders back and lifted her chin, and her tone was defiant when she continued.

'I've been called to High Hrothgar by the Greybeards. I need to set out for Ivarstead tomorrow morning. Once I'm there, I'll see what they want with me – and then I'll be coming back. To stay.' She glowered as she looked from face to face, scowling at all of the people in the room.

'Anyone who's got a problem with that is welcome to take it up with me – later.'

With that, she whirled on her heel – went to stalk from the study, and nearly plowed head-long into Farkas, standing behind her and wincing. She stumbled wordlessly around him, and when she passed through the threshold, she grabbed both doors and yanked them shut behind her; truthfully, it was more of a slam. From beyond the doors, she heard Kodlak's voice.

'No, Farkas, don't. Let her go.'

The weariness in his tone struck her, and Merrin's face flushed with sudden shame. It only spurred the bitter ache in her chest, and she bit back another snarl as she darted down the hallway, avoiding the eyes of her friends as she passed. Farkas had left her rucksack near the door to the newblood's room; she yanked it up off the floor as she went banging inside, and made a beeline for her bed in the corner.

She dropped her pack, and plopped down on the mattress with a harsh sigh, resting elbows on knees. She was visibly shaking, angry and restless and over-tired, and didn't see how she would get any rest. To top all, the crusted gash at her hairline was throbbing in time to her pulse, and building into a headache.

Of all her problems, at least this one she could solve; raising one raw palm to the gash on her forehead, Merrin opened up a channel of healing magic. Right away the pain dulled and the flesh began to mend, and she let loose another sigh.

She hadn't been at it very long when she was startled by a snort from across the room.

'Figures.'

Merrin hadn't noticed that she wasn't alone when she'd come blowing into the room, but as her head whipped around, she realized her mistake.

The last newblood was accounted for. Njada was sitting in a chair across the room, nearly tucked out of sight, with her feet propped up on a nearby dresser and her arms folded over her chest. Her helmet was sitting on a table beside her, and her choppy platinum hair was pulled back from her face. She looked casual, sitting there – lazy, even. But her posture was betrayed by her expression; eyes gleaming bright as they bored into Merrin, and her lips pulled back in a smirking sneer.

'Some sort of mythical freak – and a magic user, too. Pfft.' Her tawny eyes flicked to the bag at Merrin's feet, and her nasty smile widened.

'Good to see you're already packing.'

Merrin's stomach clenched, and so did her teeth. Her temper flared at the younger woman's words, but she did her level best to wrestle it down.

'Piss off, Njada.'

Njada barked a laugh.

'Ooou, scary. Or what? What're gonna do – Shout me to death?'

Merrin hissed through her teeth; she dropped her hand to her lap as it balled into a fist, and her spell ebbed to nothing as she glowered at the blonde.

'Do you have some kind of hearing problem? I said piss off.'

Njada's eyes narrowed, and her smile vanished. She let her feet drop from the dresser to the ground, and as she leaned abruptly forward in her chair, her arms uncrossed, and she gripped the armrests.

'You want to know what my problem is?' She jeered.

'Your uppity bullshit is my problem. You come strolling in here one day, like you think you're Shor's gift to man – and these hare-brains buy it! You did well in your testing – big deal! Since then, most of the idiots around here have been eating out of your hands. But I don't see it. I'm still sitting here, trying to figure out why Kodlak let you in in the first place.'

Merrin's temper had been steadily spiking with every word Njada said – straining like an animal against a lead. And now, the lead had finally snapped. Merrin sprang to her feet from where she'd sat, and her eyes were alight with reckless challenge as she nodded at Njada.

'You think I don't belong here? That I should leave?' She dead-panned.

'Fine. Either shut your god-damned mouth about it, or see if you can make me.'

'Sounds like a plan to me.' Njada lurched from her chair with a jagged nod, and her face was full of feral excitement as she sized Merrin up and grinned.

'Hold it!'

The two women hadn't taken a single step when they were interrupted by bodies in the doorway; one by one, Ria, Athis and Torvar came filing into the newblood's room, frames tense and faces stony.

'What's going on in here?' Ria demanded.

'Nothing that concerns you, twigs,' Njada snarked, without looking away from Merrin. 'Take a hike.'

'I bet I can guess,' Torvar drawled. 'Njada, why can't you ever keep it in your pants?'

'Shut it, asshole! Unless you wanna be next.' Njada snarled, and glanced over to the trio. 'She's the one who called me out! And now she's going to learn.'

'She's been through enough without your needling!' Ria shot back. 'I'm not surprised she didn't take it lying down!'

'Boo-hoo,' the Stonearm snorted derisively. 'What do you want me to do, give her a hankie?'

'I'd like to see her try, about now,' Athis muttered.

'Enough!' Ria rarely raised her voice, or cursed; now she was doing both. The Imperial's eyes were sparking, and she took one menacing step towards Njada.

'Now is no time for your shit! Back off, or when she's done with you, you'll have the three of us to deal with.'

For a second Njada looked at her with fierce eyes and teeth bared, as if she welcomed the prospect. In fact, she thought the skinny Imperial was bluffing. But as her eyes flicked over the two men behind her, she could tell by their expressions that they'd back Ria up, if push came to shove. Athis in particular was eyeing her as if he'd love nothing more than to plow a fist into her face.

Seconds passed like that, with the tension so thick in the room that you could cut it with a rusty spoon. Njada seemed to be weighing her options – Merrin was waiting for her to make one wrong move, her nerves stretched so thin that she shook with it.

And then Njada made up her mind; just like that, the fire left her pale eyes, and the tension seeped from her sturdy frame. She shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly – as if none of it had really mattered in the slightest – and smirked at Ria carelessly.

'Have it your way, then. I've got better things to do, anyway.' She snagged her helmet from where it sat on the table, and sauntered casually toward the door. Athis and Torvar remained tense and ready, as if they expected her to lunge. When she had one foot through the threshold, she looked at Merrin – stony-eyed and jaw clenched – and her smirk stretched into a caustic smile.

'See what I mean? Like baby deer.'

Then she was gone; chuckling to herself as she breezed through the doors to the mead hall above.

There was a beat of silence in the room – then Torvar broke it with a shake of his head, and a lopsided grin.

'What a bitch. Am I right?'

---

When it had been clear the confrontation was over, Athis and Torvar had hung awkwardly back near the door while Ria went over to Merrin. After a minute of them just standing there, she'd sent them to stand in the hall instead, with orders to stop anyone else who tried to come inside. Their door didn't lock, but Ria had closed it with a snap before returning to Merrin and announcing in a no-nonsense voice that it was time to get out of that armor.

Merrin had been too frazzled to argue – to even want to. She had worked in a kind of daze to help Ria undo her straps and pull away the pieces, until she stood there in nothing but a tunic and breeches. And then the Imperial had urged her into bed, and handed her a fresh set of clothes.

She'd tried to protest that she didn't need to be fussed over, but Ria wouldn't hear it; by the time she'd yanked down the clean shirt's hem, a thick glass bottle full of murky liquid was being shoved into her hands.

'Drink that,' she'd been instructed. 'It will help.'

It had been a healing potion – and even though it'd tasted like salty mud when she'd choked it back, it had started working on her wounds straightaway, and Merrin was thankful.

Lastly, Ria had rifled through her armoire and come up holding a stoppered, foggy phial, and looking uncertain. She had bitten her lower lip as she'd offered the phial to Merrin, and explained that it would help her sleep, if she would take it.

And after only a moment's hesitation, Merrin had.

Normally, she would've said no; she'd never been in the habit of using tinctures to sleep, and doing it now felt like cowardly surrender – it rankled. But she couldn't remember a time where she'd ever been so jumbled, so frantic and restless, so bone-tired and overwhelmed, all at once. In the end, she'd given in, and tossed back the phial with a grimace.

Now it was taking effect. She was lying in her bed, on her stomach, with the quilt pulled up to the small of her back and her face pressed into her pillow. Ria had blown out all but two candles, and put one of them on the closest nightstand, in a pewter holder. The lanky brunette was sitting on the side of Merrin's mattress, and rubbing soothing circles in the middle of her back. It comforted Merrin more than she could say – more than she felt she deserved, after how she'd acted. She forced herself to turn her head, to open her mouth and form words, despite her tongue feeling like it weighed ten pounds.

'Ria...thank you. You didn't have...to do this. I'm grateful.'

'Shh,' Ria hushed. 'Let your potion work. You don't have to talk – I know, Merrin.'

Merrin grumbled.

'Wanna be sure.'

Ria smiled. Her fondness for the woman beside her had only grown as she'd known her; not for the first time, her heart went out to Merrin as she stared at her back in this darkened room. Impulsively, she opened her mouth and spoke her mind.

'I want to be sure of something, too. I want you to understand that, no matter what happens, you're going to be fine. Better than fine. And that no matter what happens, I'll have your back. Okay? I promise.'

For a moment, there was no response. Then Merrin gave a single, dry chuckle, and nodded.

'I shouldn't be surprised by now. But I am. Thank you...for being my friend.'

The potion had settled over her like a heavy blanket – now it grew heavier still, making thought impossible. No more questions, no more doubts. No more feelings. The last thing she was aware of was a shadow dancing over her slack, open hand, and then she was out.

---

She was eventually woken by the feeling of a heavy weight settling on her mattress edge.

Several hours had passed, since she'd taken the sleeping draft; in those hours, things had transpired and been said that she was blissfully unaware of. It was quiet in the hall now, and peaceful; hardly a reflection of what the day had held.

The candles had burned down to nubs in their holders, but there was still light enough in the room for her to recognize Farkas, when she turned her face.

He was staring at her gently, carefully, and in the dim light, his blue eyes were soft. He had his hands loosely fisted in his lap; when she met his gaze, his expression was almost shy.

'Hey,' he whispered.

'Hey, yourself,' she whispered back, and was met with a slow, blooming smile.

She rolled over slowly, quilt and mattress rustling, and looked up at Farkas. The curve of his cheek was limned in faint candlelight, and the rest was thrown into shadow. She didn't look around to see if they were alone in the room – didn't strain her ears for the sounds of breathing. She just looked at him. As she did, he brought one hand gently down on her arm, and gave her a tiny squeeze.

'I came to see how you were doing.'

'And?' She crinkled her nose. 'What do you see?'

He sighed. 'Somebody who's been through a lot. Do you really have to leave in the morning?'

She'd grimaced at the first thing he'd said. But at his question she grew serious, and nodded.

'I do. For High Hrothgar.'

'It's so sudden. And so far.'

Even whispered, she could hear the worry and regret in those words. And she was still hazy from the sleeping draft; those two things combined had her opening her mouth and asking him the question, in an eager voice she'd normally temper.

'Would you come with me?' It seemed like an obvious choice – in the sleep-heavy dimness of that room, she knew there was no one she'd rather have along.

But as soon as she'd asked, his face fell. Brows crumpled, and smile faded.

'Oh – Mer, I can't. I'm sorry. I'd love to, but...' Farkas winced.

'While you were asleep, Vilkas told me he needed my help on a job in Solitude – said it had to be me. We leave at first light.'

'Oh.'

The news didn't make her angry; just oddly sad and deflated. She was hit by a wave of disappointment, and in her foggy state, all she could do was take it. Haltingly, she nodded at him.

'Alright. I understand.'

He winced again, and gave her arm another squeeze. In the meager light, his blue eyes were actually shining, apologetic and sincere.

'I really am sorry.'

She shook her head.

'Just promise me that I'll see you before you head to Solitude.'

'I promise.' He shot the words back instantly, a little too loud, and nodded hard. 'Anything you want.'

She was still disappointed, but the look on his face was so earnest and repentant that it tugged a smile from her. His own was quick to rise when he saw it, and for a second they just stayed like that, smiling at each other. Then Merrin was taken by an enormous yawn, and Farkas let her go.

'Shoulda known you'd need more rest,' he mumbled, seeming suddenly abashed. 'I just wanted to check on you. I should let you get back to sleep.'

Normally, she would've argued. But the yawn had seemingly blurred her vision, and she could feel herself slipping back into darkness. Was this really what it was like, to sleep with a draft?

'I'll see you in th'morning,' she slurred in resignation.

The potion took her the second time just as quickly as the first; she barely heard his quiet 'you bet', and by the time Farkas closed the bedroom door behind him, she'd already fallen back asleep.

---

Most of Whiterun was still abed when the city gates yawned open next morning, and several people slipped through. Dawn was just rising over the plain, and coiled tendrils of mist were wafting up from the grass to meet the infant sun.

The air around them was brisk and chilly, but Merrin hardly noticed.

A heavy night's sleep had done little to change her mood, and she was solemn and silent as she crossed the drawbridge. Every joint she had was stiff, but she walked straight and upright, anyway.

She'd woken well before dawn to prepare. Food and warm clothing had been packed in haste, and then she'd done an even hastier wash; far from the drawn-out soak she'd longed for for days, Merrin had thrown herself into the spring and scrubbed furiously until she was clean and red, then hurried back into the hall. Her thick hair was still wet in its new braid, and it lay cold and heavy against her bare neck. Her rucksack was heavier than she'd like on sore shoulders, but everything in it was essential. Her sword was waiting in its sheath, tapping whisper-quit as she walked against the chausses she hadn't had time to repair, and her quiver was full of brand new arrows. Hanging unstrung on the side of her pack was a bow that Aela had generously lent her; the bow she'd taken out of Helgen had been lost on the plains, and she'd already written it off.

When Ria let loose a huge yawn from where she kept pace beside her, it startled Merrin from her brooding.

Her friend had stirred awake when Merrin had, offering without preamble to join her on the trip so she wouldn't be alone. Merrin had been as surprised as she was grateful, and had accepted in a stammer. Now the Imperial walked beside her in the brisk dawn, similarly weighed down and looking tired.

The brothers were walking in silence several strides ahead of them, and Merrin's eyes narrowed as she stared at the backs of those two dark heads. When Farkas had told her he couldn't come with her because his brother needed him, she hadn't been angry. But she'd had some time to get up to speed. Vilkas had pushed for his brother to hurry the entire time they'd made ready, and it was only Farkas' stubbornly easy pace that had the four of them leaving at the same time. Vilkas hadn't kept his ire to himself; now, as they approached the city stables, he was emanating a stony chill comparable to the morning.

He'd obviously made arrangements the night before; a carriage driver was already waiting on his buckboard, two Palomino chargers hitched up and ready to take the brothers to Solitude. The driver was smoking a clay pipe in the early sun, and when he saw them coming down the cobbled path, he straightened up on the board and waved.

Vilkas wasted no time at all, slinging his pack into the back of the carriage without looking back. But Farkas hung behind. He turned to look at Merrin as she sidled up with Ria, and then he sighed.

'Hey, look. I really am sorry. I wish I could be going with.' His voice was sheepish, and a bit quiet, and he nodded at Ria beside her.

'I'm glad you won't be going alone. But still.'

'Relax, big guy.' Ria gave a wry smile. 'Us women-folk will manage without you, somehow.'

Instantly, Farkas flushed. 'Come on, that's not how I—'

'We know.' Merrin cut over him with a smile of her own. 'Don't worry, Farkas, it's fine. Really. I'm not mad.' At you.

He looked relieved at that, and she slid her pack off with a little groan before she changed the subject.

'How long until you make it to Solitude?'

Blue eyes rolled, and he grimaced. 'About three days. And that's if the trip is quiet.'

She gave a low whistle, and shook her head. 'I don't envy your ass on that wooden seat.'

'Tell me about it. I just—'

'Farkas.'

It was Vilkas, come striding back from the carriage, and he sounded brusque and unimpressed. The somewhat shorter man came to a stop beside his twin and clapped a hand on his armored shoulder.

'Come on, we've tarried long enough. The client in Solitude expects us for Morndas.' His eyes swept over Merrin then, and they were cold – his expression hard. He barely reined in a scowl, and shook his head as he looked back to his brother.

'We have no time for distractions.'

It was lucky he'd looked away from her, because Merrin's eyes flared at those words, and her hands balled into fists.

He could try to hide it from the others, but there wasn't a doubt in her mind that she knew the truth; he didn't need his brother's help. He'd just told Farkas that he did, to keep him from leaving Whiterun with her instead. She'd heard him call her a terrible influence last night. The bastard.

'Just give me another minute. I'll be right there.' At the look on his twin's face, Farkas held up a hand.

'Honest! Another minute. That's all.'

Vilkas audibly scoffed, rolling his eyes as he shook his head, and they could hear him muttering as he stalked back to the carriage and heaved himself up into the back. But Farkas paid him no mind. He looked at Merrin again where she stood in front of him...and just like that, the air was suddenly awkward. He raised a hand to the back of his head, and the toe of his left boot scuffed the dirt as he let loose a nervous sort of chuckle.

'So...'

Ria seemed to pick up all at once on the awkwardness, and decided to give them some privacy.

'Oh!' She exclaimed weakly. 'I just realized, I need to find my...uh..' She shuffled off without another word, walking several steps away and crouching to the ground with her back to them, under the pretense of searching her pack. It was incredibly stiff and obvious, and it was Merrin's turn to give a strangled chuckle as she and Farkas locked eyes again.

'I don't know what's up with her.'

'It's fine. I need to ask you something.' His voice had gone low, and suddenly urgent, and Merrin nearly shivered as a tingle went tripping down her spine at the sound of it.

'Ask.'

'...Are you really coming back?'

She hadn't known what to expect, but it definitely wasn't that. Her brow furrowed, and she almost asked him if he was serious – but she could see for herself that he was. His eyes were trained and intense on hers, his brow drawn in with worry. In the second of silence hanging between them, he bit his lower lip.

'Farkas, of course I'm coming back,' she managed. 'Once I'm done with the Greybeards.'

'I want you to promise me.' He took a step forward, and she was thrown completely into shadow as he blocked the early sun.

'Promise me that, Dragonborn or no, when I get back from Solitude you're going to be here. Or that you will be. That..that I'll see you again.'

He'd dropped the hand that he'd lifted to his head, and his arms were stiff at his sides. He was staring at her now with even more intensity, blue eyes churning with it, and several other things – ferocity, worry. Fear. His voice had gone husky, and another wave of tingles assaulted her spine. This time, Merrin shivered.

'Farkas, I promise. I'll be back. I'm with the Companions now. Whether I'm Dragonborn or not, that isn't changing.' She was just as serious as he was, and willed him to see it; she hated the real fear she saw, etched across his face.

After a second, though, he nodded – the bulk of the tension left his body. He let out a gusting breath, and the sheepishness returned.

'I was scared you'd change your mind, and never come back.'

She gave her head an adamant shake. 'Not a chance - you're stuck with me. Alright?'

A small smile tugged at the corners of his broad mouth. 'Alright.'

An idea hit Merrin then, and she spoke the next words before she could think better of them.

'Once we're both back in Whiterun, we could finally have that talk, if...if you'd like.' And she meant it; she had no idea when she'd gotten ready, in the last half a day. She just was.

The small smile had bloomed into a brilliant grin as she spoke; his eyes were shining as he nodded.

'I'd like that very much.'

And then he was moving, wrapping his arms around her in a tight and sudden hug that had her breath rushing from her lungs and her feet leaving the ground. He rocked back on his heels with her in his arms, as if he didn't want to let go, and Merrin's heart skipped a beat in her chest.

'Farkas!'

Vilkas again – this time there was no missing the anger in his voice.

'Let's go!'

He gave her one more squeeze, and then slowly set her down. He looked torn between relieved and regretful, when he looked into her face. Inside, she didn't feel much different.

'I've gotta go. So do you.'

'Yeah.'

'Take care of yourself?'

Merrin took a step back, and nodded. 'You, too.'

With that, Farkas turned around and started jogging towards the waiting carriage and his brother. She could see Vilkas glowering from where he'd stood up in the back, and Farkas called back to him, a touch irritated.

'Yeah, yeah, I'm coming!'

He threw his pack into the back of the carriage and hoisted himself up onto the seat across from Vilkas; immediately, the driver pulled out and steered them toward the northwest road away from the city.

Merrin hoisted her rucksack back onto her shoulders and turned to walk away. Before she'd taken three steps, though, she couldn't resist the urge to turn around and stare after the carriage. When she did, she saw Farkas twisted in his seat, staring back at her down the road. He lifted a hand to her in farewell, and she was quick to do the same, even as her heart gave a hard thump.

They only stayed that way for a second; in the next, the carriage took a bend in the road, and disappeared behind some hills. A sharp pang of disappointed sadness pricked her when it did, and she shook her head as she fiercely shoved it down.

Now isn't the time to be sad and fluttery. Especially over a man.

She started walking toward Ria, in the opposite direction of the carriage. Her friend was standing with her bag re-shouldered, her eyebrows arched, and a shrewd look on her face that made Merrin nervous.

'What was that all about?' Outwardly Ria sounded innocent, but Merrin wasn't fooled. Keeping her face as smooth as possible, she shrugged and kept walking, forcing Ria to catch up.

'He wanted to know if I'd be back. I told him of course, I would be. And then he wished me luck.'

If Ria wasn't satisfied with that answer, she didn't show it. She smiled and nodded as she fell into step with Merrin.

'That sounds like Farkas. He's always been sweet.'

Merrin agreed with a noncommittal 'mmm', but didn't say any more, and the pair fell into an easy silence. They'd been walking across the plains for a short while when Ria spoke up again.

'Do you know the road to Ivarstead well?'

The question gave Merrin a jolt, and she wrapped both hands around the straps of her pack as she nodded.

'Well enough.'

This was an understatement; she'd walked the road to Ivarstead more times than she could count. But the last time had been quite a while ago. The thought sobered her, and all at once, a new thought came rushing to the front of her mind – knocking aside thoughts of Farkas, and even of the Greybeards and her destiny. As the morning sun rose in front of them, Merrin grimaced, and squinted against the glare.

She was on her way to Ivarstead. For the first time in nearly three years, she was going home.

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