Chapter 21 – Where Dragons Ruled
Atop Solitude
Jarl Elisif had been anticipating a quiet evening alone with a stack of petitions, but it was not to be. Jordis had come rushing in not five minutes after Elisif had sat down, all butbursting with eagerness to tell of her latest encounter with the Dragonborn. Elisif had felt a stab of inexplicable irritation at her friend, but motioned for her to continue nonetheless. As soon as Jordis described Velandryn's companion, though, Elisif felt cold fingers grip at her chest. She halted her friend and opened the door to her antechamber.
Bolgeir looked up, curious but not alarmed. "My lady?"
"Find Sybille Stentor. Quietly, if you will." Her housecarl nodded and set off down the stairs.
Elisif closed the door again, meeting Jordis' confused gaze. "I think there's more to this Serana than you know."
Sybille must have been close, for barely a minute later she was opening the door. "Yes?" Elisif's court wizard had never been one for pleasantries.
Elisif nodded at her friend. "Describe her again."
The moment Jordis fell silent, the jarl looked over at her court wizard. "She's a vampire, right?" Jordis gave a little hiccup of surprise.
Sybille nodded. "Without question." The red-eyed woman had been a fixture in the palace for as long as Elisif could recall; that she had hidden her own vampirism from the court was nothing short of magical. "By the sound of it, one of the Volkihar, though I wonder that her face was not distorted."
"What do you mean?" Whether by personal or professional interest, Sybille knew more about vampires than any other person Elisif had met. Jordis, however, seemed keen to press her. "Her face was fine."
"As I said, not distorted." Sybille conjured a book out of the air, and showed Elisif a sketch of a face that was marred with features not unlike those of a bat. "Only a few bloodlines display golden eyes." Her own had only the slightest hint of red in this light. "Here in Skyrim, it's almost certainly the Volkihar." She showed the picture to Jordis. "The woman had nothing like this?"
Her oldest friend recoiled. "Ew! No!"
"I see." Sybille slammed the book shut in her hand, then released it. The tome hung in the air for a long moment before vanishing with a slight hum. "My jarl, I must take my leave." She bowed to them both, then exited the sitting room.
Jordis let out a long breath the moment the door shut. "You know, when I was a kid she scared me senseless."
"She still scares you, Jordi. Don't pretend." She didn't think that Jordis knew what Sybille was, and the thought of what would happen if she let her court wizard's secret slip scared her a little. I've seen her annoyed, not to mention upset, but never truly angry. "For that matter, me too, I guess."
The golden-haired warrior giggled. "Remember when we snuck into the cellar during the Feast of King Hrold?"
"And Sybille caught us with that bottle of Weald?"
"'Four hundred years old and a gift from the Septims!' I thought she'd never stop yelling!"
Jordis collapsed onto one of the couches, laughing all the while. "Gods, I miss that." She opened one eye and looked at Elisif. "I don't suppose you can put off being Jarl for the rest of the night? I miss Eli."
"Nobody calls me that anymore." Still, she relaxed onto the couch next to her friend. "What's on your mind?"
"Just thinking." Jordis reached over the back of the couch and grabbed a bunch of grapes. "I miss being able to walk around the city without being reminded we're at war."
"The sooner we defeat Ulfric, the better." Elisif's agreement was tinged with sorrow. "Torygg deserves that much."
"Hey, how're you doing?" When Elisif didn't respond, her friend stood, pulled the jarl to her feet, and crushed her in a hug. "Love you, Eli."
"And you, Jordi." She kissed Jordis on the brow, and worked her way out of the embrace. "Now, as your jarl I command you to lighten the mood."
Jordis grinned. "Sounds fun, but I've got nothing. What'd you have in mind?"
"What else? Why in Oblivion is Velandryn going around with a vampire?"
Her friend gave her a sly look. "Well, you didn't see her. Maybe Vel's got a thing for the pale ones."
"Pretty, then?"
"Gorgeous." Jordis' breath came out in a low whistle. "In a creepy way, though. Skin so pale she looked half a statue, and she didn't blink enough. Felt like a predator." Sometimes Elisif forgot that there was a sharp mind under Jordis' bluster and jokes.
Of course. She'd been doing her best not to think about Velandryn, but now the odd queasiness that troubled her stomach when she pictured his face returned. "First things first. Do you think she had him under a spell?"
"'First things first?' You sound like old Master Heldmer." Jordis stuck her tongue out at Elisif, who mimed a playful bite in her direction. Then, the warrior shook her head. "Nah. Remember when Lord Sugorn hired that enchantress? His household was all staring and they'd talk like they were asleep. Vel wasn't like that."
"Mm." She didn't know much about enchantment, but she had a hard time imagining that the Dragonborn's mind hadn't been his own. "An ally then, but I thought Dark Elves hated vampires."
"I mean, doesn't everyone?" Jordis shrugged. "Vel's smart. Maybe he figured she'll be useful against a dragon."
"Maybe." She'd only met him for that one conversation, but she thought that might be it. "He has a hard road ahead of him."
"'Specially if he's carting around a bloodsucker. I'd hate to be there when she gets hungry." It had the cadence of a joke, but Jordis wasn't smiling.
At that moment, Elisif didn't know if she was about to voice a belief or merely a hope. "He'll be fine."
FUS!
Velandryn pulled himself out of the snow, tasting blood. Damn it all to the Corners! He looked up, only to see the dragon coming around again. Cursing, he limped towards the nearest cover, sending magicka into his limbs to heal the injuries he'd suffered when the beast had demolished the tower. It was too much, though. Not with the pain. He couldn't run and heal at the same time. Get to cover first, then heal. Hopefully some other warriors could keep it occupied long enough for him to get his body working again.
Maybe it wasn't a good idea to challenge it directly. The dragon had come down on them with incredible speed after his shout, heralding its arrival with a spray of icy breath that had frozen the very stone on which they stood. Then, it had brought its claws and head to bear. He and Serana had both leapt free, but a wing had caught him before he could finish casting his feather fall, sending him the ungraceful plummet that had fractured one of his legs and sent lances of pain up his side when he tried to breathe.
He found himself in the joining of two walls, and took a moment to rest in the corner there, pouring every drop of magicka he could into his own flesh. He shuddered in mingled pain and relief as he felt the wounds knit beneath his armor, and groaned as his bones clicked back into place.
Thank the gods I'm a healer. Broken bones were a nightmare to deal with on someone else, but a mage who knew their own flesh could prevent anything from going wrong. Usually. He rose, and stomped experimentally. It'll do.
Their initial plan, to keep the dragon focused on him while the others brought it down from afar, was ash in the wind. The beast was already returning, headed straight for—
Now that's a thought. Quickly he ducked out from behind the wall. "Dov-Rah!" The ancient word for dragon felt right on his tongue, and for all that it wasn't a shout, it carried farther than his voice ever could.
The dragon's wings beat the air furiously, and slowly brought the beast's ponderous bulk to bear on him. Remember the plan, mortals. It opened its mouth, and Velandryn readied a ward that would only last for a few moments against the dragon's fierce breath.
Lightning lanced in from his left, even as a barrage of icy shards erupted from behind him. The dragon staggered, screaming, and beat its wings again to gain height. Velandryn began to turn to see who'd unleashed the spells, but somebody grabbed him by the arm and spun him with unnatural strength.
"Run!" Serana's hair was halfway out of its braids, and the effect was somewhat mesmerizing. She spun him around. "It's after you, like we planned! Go! We'll bring it down!"
"Right." He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, and willed himself to focus. When he opened them again, the world seemed sharper. He focused on the ruined city around him, and the dragon overhead. Draw its gaze. He ducked out from behind the wall, and bolted across the snowy courtyard. Overhead, he heard a roar. Try not to die.
He knewthe breath was coming before it did. Something above and behind him shifted, and he turned despite himself. Face the foe. That was Dov doing his thinking; not facing an enemy was something shameful.
"FUS!"
His own Thu'um caught the icy wind just beginning to emerge from the dragon's mouth. The air froze into tiny crystals and shards of ice, and those were then thrown back into the dragon's face and mouth. It gave a roar, and landed with a thunderous crash. It began walking towards Velandryn with purposeful strides, each step coming faster than the last.
"Attack!" From the ruins, war cries sounded, and suddenly the rest of his makeshift dragon hunters were charging. Imperials in their armored uniforms ran alongside Morthal guards and ragged adventurers. An Orc lunged ahead of the pack, twin axes flashing in the sun. A Bosmer in dark armor that was oddly familiar leapt upon a stone outcropping, firing a flurry of arrows so fast that her hands seemed to blur through the air.
The dragon, for its part, did not slow. It continued charging, and for all that it was ungainly on the ground, it was still thousands of pounds of muscle moving faster than a horse could gallop. One soldier, too close as it passed, was sent flying with a casual flick of the dragon's enormous tail. Others tried to land blows, but the glancing hits they landed had little hope of piercing its scaly hide. All the while, the dragon's black eyes never left Velandryn's.
Come to me, beast. But the dragon was no beast. It might not have the look of man or mer, but he knew all too well that this creature was, if anything, conscious on a level he could scarcely comprehend. Even now, after taking the soul of Mirmulnir, he was no closer to understanding what the dragons truly were.
That they were something more than merely mortal was beyond question, however. Its breath didn't create ice. The dragon's Thu'um had literally frozen the air as it passed.
And mine pushed it back. The Dragonborn laughed.
"FUS!" This time, his shout was not for the dragon's head, but for its limbs.
He had aimed at the wings that hung awkwardly as it clambered along the ground, and the legs that sought purchase each time they came down. Appendages not meant to run on icy ground couldn't hope to withstand the impossible Push that his Shout was somehow able to conjure.
The dragon collapsed mid-run, legs splaying out as its wings were pulled back. It slid along the ground, roaring in what could have been either pain or anger. Coming to rest, it gave a great shuddering breath and climbed back to its feet, eyes once more searching out Velandryn with what he fancied was renewed hate.
Those moments, though, had been enough. His allies had reached the dragon, and now fell upon it with a fury that was doubtless masking their terror. An Altmer in the same dark armor as the Bosmer from before unleashed a torrent of lightning upon the dragon, only to duck aside as a claw passed through the spot where his head had been a moment before.
The dragon had regained its footing, and already Velandryn's makeshift army was falling back. Warriors scrambled away from claws and tail, and archers suddenly hit nothing but air as the dragon twisted itself around, roaring. Ice and frost sprayed from its mouth, and two mercenaries went down screaming.
Great leathery wings buffeted the crowd, and the beast once more was soaring abover them. The clouds had gathered thick and grey overhead, and the dragon vanished into them in an instant.
"It will be back." Velandryn realized that the voice he was hearing was his own. "No dragon would flee from Joorre." He studied the clouds, looking for any sign of the enemy.
"And what is Joorre?" The Altmer in dark armor had approached. "Something we should know if we'll be pitting our lives against a dragon?"
Velandryn saw, for the first time, exactly who this new ally was. Oh, gods be damned. Armor of adamantite and quicksilver shaded dark and trimmed with gold, and an eagle picked out in moonstones on the breast. "You, Thalmor." At that word, the surrounding crowd rumbled unhappily. Several Legionaries shifted uncomfortably, and one of the Morthal guards quietly moved to stand beside Valdimar, whispering in his ear.
That was ill-done; I'm losing them. The thought of a Thalmor in their midst had unnerved many, and in a moment they'd realize how insane it was to be taking on a dragon. Velandryn looked around and pitched his voice so all could hear. "Joorre are mortals! To a dragon, we are all equally worthless! This is your chance to prove them wrong!"
The crowd didn't exactly cheer, but most seemed at the very least willing to listen. He looked up again. The clouds were thickening, and growing dark. A storm's the last thing we need. "We hurt it, and we can do it again! Get the injured to shelter, and be ready to bring it down!"
He might only have a few seconds before the dragon was on them again. He turned to see Serana standing behind him, watching with an inscrutable expression. Valdimar was herding some warriors towards a ditch, though he knelt to check a fallen Legionary. He looked up, met Velandryn's eyes, and shook his head.
Damn. Something moved in the clouds, and thoughts of the fallen soldier were gone in an instant. "Positions!"
As the group scattered, the Altmer moved beside Velandryn, smiling slightly. "Scatter, you say. All save you, I suppose?"
Velandryn kept the Thalmor in the corner of his eye as he scanned the sky. "That depends. Would you rather be beneath a dragon's notice or the object of its ire?" The clouds were now thick enough that their roiling could well hide the dragon's movements.
Serana too was staring upwards. "There's no way that storm's natural."
The Thalmor's eyes narrowed. "A spell to call a storm? I would feel it, vampire." After a moment, he grudgingly gave them their due. "As would have both of you."
Serana was right, Velandryn realized. However Thu'um works, it isn't just magic. Doubtless a dragon could call a storm without the inconvenience of spells.
However, he felt no need to explain Thu'um to a Thalmor. "What matters is that we bring it down. Are you with us, Aedmer?"
Pale lips twisted into a smile. "Mockery and alliance in a breath?" He nodded. "I'd expect nothing less from a heretic." Then, he sobered. "Where do you need us?"
"You—" Just then, something moved in the clouds, a shape that was unmistakable. There! Planning was forgotten as the great grey bulk descended, and they leapt once more into battle.
Serana's strength was all but effortless to her. Her body still remembered when she was human, so she was unlikely to accidentally crush a goblet in her hand or find herself unable to block out a conversation a quarter-league away, but her gifts were never far below the surface. So, when the dragon dove from the clouds, she was ready in the time it took Velandryn to finish realizing they were under attack again.
The Dragonborn, to his credit, was becoming quick on his feet for a mortal. He called a shimmering shield into being around himself, a dome that crackled and spit whenever a flake of snow fell upon it. She saw his fingers twitch, and that Daedric sword was in his hand. He dropped into a warrior's stance, waiting.
She nodded to herself. The cover did nothing. It was good for the ones who weren't the targets of the dragon's rage, but the Dragonborn should be visible. And, judging by how fast the dragon was diving towards the three of them, the monster agreed.
The High Elf sent a wave of arcing lightning into the air, and Serana conjured a swirling storm of ice between her hands. She focused on her blood, willing her creation greater and colder. You like the ice, hmm? Let's see how you favor the cold of the Volkihar!
She loosed her spell, and it erupted as a blizzard pointing upwards.
The dragon didn't even slow, but barreled through the ice as though it were nothing. She noticed, however, that it shied away from the lightning of the Altmer. That's a little insulting.
Then it was on them, and their world became claws and leaping and blood.
This time, the dragon had not been knocked about by Velandryn's Thu'um before it reached them. It dove in with deadly force and was making full use of its claws. The Altmer was knocked away, hitting the snow and sliding for what had to have been ten feet. Velandryn looked almost like he was dancing, slashing with his blade in one hand while launching fireballs with the other. Each time fire or sword landed a blow, it left angry red marks on the dragon's scaly hide.
For her part, Serana was stuck trying to do any damage at all to the thing. With her strength she should have been able to land far stronger blows than Velandryn, but her blade was unable to do much more than shear off the merest of its scales.
Then, she saw a flash in the corner of one eye, and a wing was on her. She was fast, but the leathery limb was too wide to dodge, and it was all she could do to turn away so the hit landed across her shoulders. It still sent her to the ground and made her vision spin, but the blow of a dragon could well have broken even her in half.
She rose, channeling her magic to steady herself, and saw something impossible.
Velandryn was fighting the dragon.
That burning blade danced through the air, and the dragon's head snapped back to avoid it. Then, the mouth and teeth were back in play, and it was Velandryn who ducked under, letting the massive teeth skitter off of his flaming shield. A moment later, and the dragon opened its mouth only to have Velandryn let loose another thunderous "FUS!" that snapped the dragon's scaly head back and cut short the ice that had begun coming out.
By the Mace, he's doing it. Velandryn Savani was going toe-to-toe with a dragon, and somehow he hadn't yet been turned into a bloody smear on the snow. He was losing, of course, but it still took her breath away.
Others were crowded around again, hacking at the beast and dodging its wings and feet, but they were clearly an afterthought.
The great scaly tail made a shrieking sound as it drove onto the conjured blade, and for a moment, Serana thought the Daedric weapon would carve its way through the beast's flesh. Instead, however, the blade was driven up and away, vanishing as it left the Dragonborn's hand.
Velandryn had angled himself well, and so he was merely thrown into the air rather than pulverized by the incoming blow. Still, she could make out the sound of crunching bones as he rolled to a stop in the snow.
She was moving before she was aware of it, crossing the open space with all the speed she could find. He can't be dead. And, indeed, he was moving, though it was only a little.
Please let him be okay!
His world was pain.
Nerevar defend me!
He couldn't see anything, but somehow his vision was red. He couldn't move, but he was fairly certain he was writhing in agony. He could feel his hands and feet going cold, but there was a fire in his gut threatening to burn him alive.
Gods, why?
He thought he screamed, but couldn't be sure.
Then, he felt something. A hand, somewhere. And then, all at once, a wave of pain, but somehow different.
Another wave, and more thought returned.
Another, and Velandryn Savani opened his eyes.
The face that met him was ice-pale, golden eyes boring holes into his. One of Serana's hands was on his chest, the other on an arm that he thought—no, it was definitely broken.
Then, another wave of pain, and his arm could move. Blearily, he realized what was happening. "A healer now?"
Another wave, and he became aware of how much his legs hurt. "You can't die on me!" Her face was too close to his own, and she was shouting. "On your feet! It's coming!"
He started to rise, but stumbled as one of his legs buckled under his own weight. She grabbed him by his arm and hauled him to his feet with one hand. He swayed, and for a moment almost forgot where they were.
The dragon roared. Its wings beat the air, and the soldiers around it fell away. Some clutched at wounds, while others only staggered back in fear. The monster, free of the distractions, began rising into the air. He had ten seconds, maybe less.
But it was enough. The roar and the pain brought Dov to the top of his thoughts, and Dov had no time for hesitation. He stomped his foot and thumped his fist against his armor. They'll do. He pulled deep, and the sword appeared again in his hand.
The dragon dove, and Serana unleashed a fusillade of icicles at the beast's eyes. For a moment it slowed to turn its head, but in the end she'd bought them only a heartbeat. The beast was still airborne, and bearing down on them with terrible speed.
Velandryn felt his lips pull back, baring his teeth in a snarl. It was a primal instinct, but one that even Dunmer upbringing couldn't fully extinguish. With Dov now exerting so much pressure, he had no chance of resisting.
And then, it paused. The dragon hung above them, wings flapping, terrible in its splendor despite the meager wounds they had inflicted.
"Boziik Joorre! Fahliil Dovahkiin! Hin Thu'um komeyt!" It was a command, a demand that the insignificant mortal let loose his Thu'um. There was something else behind the words, however, an unspoken demand for supremacy.
And Velandryn obliged. But not on your terms. He sent a gout of flame skyward, and spared a glance for Serana. "I'm going to ground him."
"Okay?" She'd sopped firing magic. Everyone on the battlefield seemed frozen, waiting for someone to move. "And?"
"Cripple a wing. No matter what. I don't think this'll work twice." The dragon was still hanging overhead. It was an insult, allowing the foe a moment to taste their hopelessness.
Velandryn didn't wait for Serana's assent, but raised his voice to reach the Nord he desperately hoped was there. "Valdimar?"
From behind, the guard's response. "Aye!"
"Anyone who can stand, get them moving. Hit those wings with everything you've got." Velandryn stepped forward. I can't wait any longer.
"Dov-rah! Are you afraid? So far away from the Dragonborn? Afraid to test your claws?" He waved his hand, wreathed in flame, at the dragon. Black eyes fixed on him, and Velandryn knew he had the beast. He stomped in a taunting gesture, and regretted it instantly as pain shot up his leg. "Your time is done!"
"Sahlo tinvaak Joorre." Mock my Thu'um all you want, it still staggered you. The dragon hung there, an impossible bulk to sit so lightly on the air. "Hi dinok krif!" It dove at him, leaving a last taunt in the air. "Vobalaan!"
Unworthy, am I? For an instant, indignation won out over fear, then he remembered that he had a thousand pounds of angry dragon bearing down on him. Maybe I wasn't so clever.
And then there was no more time for thought.
He hurled another spray of fire as he ran, barely even watching his steps as he tried to evade the dragon. It was no use, however, and the massive beast crashed down on him. A shield thrown up at the last minute stopped him from being crushed, but the dragon's claws slammed against the shield of burning magicka and drove him—and it—to the ground.
He felt his magicka melting the snow around him. The claw above him pressed down harder, and he felt his ward begin to waver.
Not like this! He poured magicka into the ward, overloading it in the same way he had back in Dimhollow so long ago. The claw hung in the air as the dragon roared, and Velandryn seized his chance.
He opened his mouth, and reached for the idea of Fus. It wasn't a thought, exactly, but something felt. He would comprehend the push that must happen, and realize it through his voice.
This time, however, it wouldn't come. Instead, there was only a silent void, and the dragon's claw came crashing down.
Velandryn rolled away, but not fast enough. Once more, he heard the crunch of bones and felt agony stab through him. He coughed, and watched blood spatter the snow in front of him.
So this is how I die.
The thought came coolly, with resignation—and then he saw the jarl. Elisif, standing alone on a balcony in Solitude. Trying to change the world, but powerless before the forces that moved it.
Like me.
He swung his hand, and flames engulfed the claw. The dragon snapped back, but it was only for a moment. Once more it came, and his shield spat fire as it shrieked into being.
I am NOT powerless.
The dragon was over him again, but now he saw only the lights in the sky of Skyrim. Dancing among the stars. He'd stood upon a balcony, and shared his heart with a mortal. If I die here, I'll never speak to her again.
If he died, if the Dragonborn fell upon the snows of Bromjunaar, he would have lied to Elisif.
I told her I'd be there, alongside her. That we'd find our purpose together.
He let magicka suffuse his body, and flames ignited around his skin. He rolled to one side, snow melting around him, and grabbed a piece of some long-fallen building. Muttering a chant of recollection, he thrust it upwards, where his telekinesis spell took hold and smashed it against the dragon's hide.
Somewhere nearby, he knew, Serana was there. The vampire who had abandoned her blood and her family to join his quest. I die here, I fail her.
The stone had done nothing. The dragon's head hung over his prone form, and now its jaws opened.
So, this is the moment of my failure?
The thought came burning, with fury. For the first time in too long, he thought of Lydia, who he had sent alone and unprepared into Morrowind. If he never left this battlefield, he knew she would never forgive herself for abandoning him.
I chose this path.
He had people waiting for him. If he died without summoning every last scrap of his strength, he had failed as both Dragonborn and Dunmer.
I can't fail her.
This was not how Dov died.
Something stirred within him, a rebellion against all of this. Not just the dragon above, but the snow beneath, and the wet cold that even now soaked into his bones. It was no longer mere irritation at the weather or a wry observation that in Skyrim even the dragons could kill with the cold, but a desire to show what he was.
I am Dunmer, born of mortal and Daedra.
His story did not end here, and he would burn this ancient city to the ground if it meant victory.
They will watch and wonder, and know the nature of their Dragonborn.
He knew the word, deep in his bones. It was fire, and he had known fire from the day of his birth.
Let them taste of my flame!
"YOL!"
Serana saw Velandryn go down, and wondered if her heart could actually stop. It was only an idle thought, however, as she leapt across the snow to once again save the Dragonborn's life.
"Yol!"
She needn't have bothered. A plume of flame erupted upward from where he lay, clashing with the frozen breath of the dragon. They hissed and sparked as they met, though—
Neither is failing. She had a fairly good sense of Velandryn's limits with magic, and given the beating he'd taken, this spell was far beyond him. It wasn't a stream of fire or a spray of bolts, but an eruption. And, her eyes watering as she peered through the flame from afar, it was coming from his mouth.
Thu'um. Of course Velandryn Savani would be able to shout fire into existence.
He was wounded—she could smell his blood in the air—but for the moment, he and the dragon were evenly matched. Fire and ice annihilated each other at the point of their meeting, and for the two combatants, nothing else mattered.
Serana spun, and saw Valdimar bent over a fallen soldier. "Rally them! Now!" She didn't wait for a response, but darted towards the dragon. My sword is useless. However, the gifts of the Volkihar were many, and this sudden storm had blocked the sun.
She called on the last dregs of power from the blood within her, and knew her skin had grown hard. But brittle. Do this right, and she could likely pierce a dragon's hide. Do it wrong, and my arm shatters.
She hesitated. No mortal would have noticed, but to her heightened senses the pause was palpable. One mistake, and I'm down an arm. It would take a river of blood to recover from such a grievous wound, and she was nearly dry. This fails, and there's no guarantee I can keep my sanity. If she was revealed here, if she was stricken with bloodlust—no, I won't think about that.
Then, whether by fate or happenstance, the battling Thu'um flowed apart to let her see Velandryn's face. It was drawn and pale, though pale for a Dunmer was still darker than any Nord, and the pain there was obvious.
He's suffering. She ran on. I might shatter. She would be revealed as a vampire. Hunted, perhaps killed. If Velandryn dies, my only ally is gone. It would make the most sense for her to vanish now. Disappear into the storm; keep the scroll out away from everyone. Just turn, and go.
If Velandryn dies—
If Velandryn dies, he's gone.
Her hand, harder than steel, punched through the dragon's hide.
It only sunk in to her wrist, but that was enough. She released the enchantment, and could move it again. Screaming a wordless war cry, she dug her hand into the creature's huge flank, and felt the flesh and blood squish out of her way. A roar that was not Thu'um, one of pain, and she knew it was working.
She pulled her hand free, and blood gushed out onto the snow. Its potency nearly sent her reeling, but something deep within her knew that the blood of a dragon was not meant for such as she. Instead, Serana focused on the wound. Have to hurt him. She had to buy Velandryn more time—
The vampire woman rushed away, and Valdimar cursed to himself. He hadn't been sure why the Dragonborn tolerated such a creature as a companion, but he was beginning to understand. Faster, stronger. Then, she put her hand through the dragon's side, and he wondered if she'd consider staying on in Morthal. A dozen like her, and the jarl could tell Tullius and his little pet queen to go and freeze.
Now, though, they had an opening. He waved at the nearest Imperials, a trio of Nords huddled against a wall. "Attack! While we can!"
One rose to her feet, but the others stayed down. "We can't kill it." That was an Orc in thick furs, part of a caravan that had gotten drawn in. Now, he looked over at where the battle raged. "We should run while we can." The Redguard beside him nodded.
"Run?" Valdimar might have expected that from an Orc, but one of the Nords was nodding along. "Run from a dragon?" His voice was rising, and others tore their eyes away from the torrents of fire and ice to look at him. "Have you no shame? No pride?"
Eskern, another guard from Morthal, dragged a bleeding Imperial into shelter. "We'll just die. Better to protect our homes."
There were about a dozen gathered around him now. All injured, but only a few grievously. A blue-robed Imperial mage channeling Restoration worked his way around the wounded, but it was slow going.
Valdimar scanned the room. We're running out of time. "The Dragonborn is out there. Does that mean nothing?"
Nobody would meet his eyes, but the Orc at least offered up a retort. "Not my Dragonborn. No sense dying for your legend."
Near the dragon, there was a flash of lightning. The three Thalmor had joined the battle again.
Valdimar's heart hurt, and he wanted to weep. "The Dragonborn is out there! Fighting for us! And you'll sit in here and let Thalmor be the only ones to help?" He grabbed a spear from where it lay against the wall. "Eater take you all! You're not worthy of Sovngarde!"
"Like hell!" The woman had been sitting in the corner, bent under the weight of years, with pale skin as leathery and cracked as her armor. Now, though, she rose, grabbing an axe from the ground and hefting it with some hidden vigor. "Come on, you worthless skeevers! Earn your death!"
The Orc began chortling and leaned against the wall. "Aye, by the Maul. Go and throw yourselves away."
His companion, however, was testing the edge of a curved sword against his finger. "Heard a lot about Sovngarde." Pale eyes shone in a dark face. "Not where I'm headed, but being the first since Cyrus to kill a dragon will give me a fine story to tell Tu'whacca!"
Others were rising now, and laying hands to weapons. Even the ones who weren't Nords were preparing, though the eyes of the Skyrim-born shone with something more.
Valdimar looked towards the battle. Like something out of legend, the stalemate still held. Elf and vampire again dragon, none breaking. "Hit it hard! The Dragonborn will do the rest!"
And, just maybe, I can see Morthal again.
"Warriors, to me!" He was running now, and could see others emerging from where they'd been recovering or hiding. "This is our chance!" More Imperials had rallied on the far side, and seemed to be waiting for something.
Well, I'll give them their signal. "For Skyrim! To victory, or Sovngarde!"
Somehow, impossibly, Velandryn was still alive. He couldn't have said how or why, but his Thu'um was holding.
The word Yol was fire. It was fire, with all that entailed. He knew his own skills, and what was coming forth from his mouth right now was not magic. It was more primal. Somehow, his voice could call flames into being, flames that matched the icy spray of this dragon's breath.
Something beyond fire and ice passed between them as their Thu'um met. He sensed anger, resentment at losing something that was rightfully his. This dragon hates us. Hates mortals. He wondered if the dragon could feel his fear, and what that would mean.
Orvas Mathen had once told him that the goal of a soldier's training was to eliminate conscious thought. By drilling action and reaction into a soldier, they could move without having to consider their next action. For Velandryn's part, he'd always tried to think first. Maybe that's why I'm such a miserable warrior. Now, though, his mind was racing, and he seemed able to think about anything and everything even as he lay bleeding on the ground, matching voices with a dragon.
Suddenly, there was a roar, more felt than heard, and the distant sound of shouting. And then, all at once, the frost was gone.
Aching, he rose, pulling on what little magicka he had left to hold his body upright. Then, he saw what had transpired.
He had thought the others broken. He'd seen the Nords, the Imperials and mercenaries falling back after each of the dragon's attacks. He'd seen them dragging their broken and dead away.
And yet, here they were. Not all of them, but twenty or more, charging with weapons drawn. The dragon was turning, but somehow it was bleeding heavily from one leg.
He saw the three Thalmor, scattered but fighting as one. The Bosmer was firing arrows that seemed always to punch through the leather of wings or find open wounds to strike. The leader, whom Velandryn had spoken with before, was calling lightning to torment the beast. And the last one, the likely Altmer armored head-to-toe in heavy black and gold armor, stood like an ebon pillar, either unable or unwilling to use the greatsword on his back.
The Nords, by contrast, were fighting with everything they had. For a moment, Velandryn could only watch in awe at how they charged in, seemingly heedless of the fact that they were likely throwing their lives away.
"For Skyrim! Skyrim and the Dragonborn!" Valdimar was running headlong at the dragon, spear ready. Behind him came Legionaries and hired guards, a ragged pack of baying Nords.
Serana was half a blur, seemingly tearing a hole in the dragon's side with her bare hands. The beast twisted to snap at her, but she darted backwards and sent a spike of ice into one eye. The creature roared and spread its wings, but every archer, as if by unspoken agreement, loosed their shafts at the huge targets. Velandryn raised a hand and willed a single bolt of flame into being. He aimed it at a patch of tattered wing, and let fly.
The dragon screamed. Good. Right now, Velandryn wanted that bastard to hurt. He had little left in the way of magicka, but not even the dragon's thick hide was impervious to the amount of damage they'd been doing. Wounds covered its sides, and he wasn't sure if it could even take flight. By Azura, we're winning.
The dragon had seemed to realize the same thing. It spun again, tail slamming a wiry Redguard into a wall. The human fell to the snow unmoving, and the battle raged on uncaring.
Velandryn saw Serana leap over the tail when it came at her. She landed lightly behind the beast's legs, where she conjured a jagged shard of ice which she drove into the back of one knee.
The dragon screamed again as its leg gave out, and it tumbled to the ground. With a cheer, the ragtag attackers closed on it, weapons rising and falling without grace. Cuts gave way to gashes, and more than one spear was thrust deep into the dragon's body and removed with a mighty spurt of blood.
For Velandryn's part, he was pouring every spare drop of magicka into healing his wounds and trying not to collapse. So, when the dragon dragged itself towards him, his first instinct was to hide behind something.
No. This was it. Not now. He had bested this one. Not my victory alone, but mine nonetheless.
"Dovahkiin." The word was a rumble, heavy with resignation. Something in its tone gave even the others hacking at the beast pause, and the battle stilled. "Hin krograh." My victory indeed.
Velandryn found his own voice failing him, and only nodded.
The dragon coughed, and blood gushed forth. "Alduin…Zu'u funt." His head crashed into the snow, and the dragon was no more.
Someone cheered, but the sound was small in the silence, and it died away in an instant. Even the onlookers could tell that something was coming, and Velandryn was finding it hard to breathe as the air around him seemed to thicken.
There was a shout, and one of the Nords staggered backwards. The Thalmor were backing up, and everyone looked a heartbeat away from violence. He should have felt alarm, or amusement, or something, but right now all he could experience was the impossible sensation of his soul singing as the dragon's body burned away before his eyes.
His breath was hot, and air that was not his own filled his lungs. His mind spun with impossible height, and each beat of his heart set the earth to shaking. A clamoring void filled him, and his senses failed as the world beyond became as nothing compared to the fury within.
Colors surrounded him, and a light that sang with a deep and thunderous voice flowed into his body. Fire filled him, and Velandryn Savani once more found his mind reaching inexorably towards dragon.
And then, it was done. He simply stood there, swaying slightly, across from the bones of a dragon. Save for the fact that it wasn't covered in snow, it might well have been a part of the ruins. Just one more relic from an age long past.
He realized that he was the center of attention. Be they Nord, Thalmor, Imperial, or those of one awestruck-looking vampire, all eyes were on him. Let's give them something to see.
He could feel a sluggishness in his chest, which, were he a more fanciful mer, he would say was the added weight of his dragon's soul. He stepped forward, feeling as though he were in a dream. Reaching the dragon, he reached out and pried a tooth from the great skull. It was longer than his hand, slightly curved, and ended in a shockingly sharp point. He tossed it in the air, caught it, and tucked it away. A soul's well and good, but a dragon's tooth makes a fine trophy!
One of the Nords raised his blade, and Velandryn realized that it was Valdimar. "The Dragonborn! Dragonborn and victory!"
Others raised their voices then, and surged forward. Velandryn found himself at the center of a riotous mass of humans and a few mer, all of them clamoring congratulations and trying to outdo each other with tales of their fight.
He noticed the wounded now, and how many were no longer moving. He moved towards Valdimar, who opened his arms as if to embrace him; Velandryn raised a hand to ward the Nord away. He tried to speak, but found words once again eluded him. He placed a hand on the Nord's shoulder, and called up an ancient cantrip of Illusion.
How Many? It was an imprecise thing, sending thoughts into another's mind, but simple ideas could be transferred with relative ease. Also, not having to worry about language helped. He visualized the dead bodies, and repeated the thought. How Many Dead?
Valdimar jumped in his armor, but recovered quickly. He gave Velandryn a long, studying look, then shook his head. "Too many. A hard victory, but the dead feast in Sovngarde, and we've slain a dragon."
"And when you don't have him around the next time, human?" The Altmer had approached, mouth tight. "How many will you have to lose to kill another?"
Velandryn saw Serana only an instant before she spoke. "They aren't gods. We brought this one down with force, it can be done again."
The Altmer gestured around them. "You see this and you are hopeful?" He shook his head. "I had thought the dragons little more than a footnote. My report…" He trailed off. "They are a true threat. I see that now."
"Glad you could join us." Serana's voice was icy, and she had moved to stand at Velandryn's side. "Maybe next time you can all fight, hmm?" Velandryn remembered seeing the other Thalmor, the one in heavy armor, staying back from the fight.
The Altmer smiled. "Thaulanwe was more interested in studying the dragon than in slaying it. Perhaps he figured it could thin out some Nords before going down? Do us all a favor."
Velandryn sighed. He opened his mouth to retort, but once more the words wouldn't come. Blinking, he tried again, but couldn't make a sound.
Panic rose in his gut. Is because of Thu'um? He'd used it more in that last battle than ever before, and each time it had been harder and harder. That last, when he'd called fire into being, had felt like hot oil being poured down his throat. He'd thought it was just from the heat, but perhaps it wasn't. What if this is the price of mortals Shouting?
Quietly—as if I had any other choice—he placed a hand on Serana's shoulder. He felt her tense under his touch, and quickly formed the thoughts he needed to send. Cannot Speak. Voice Gone.
She turned slightly, brow furrowed and eyes slightly narrowed. He glanced at the others, and Serana gave him a tiny nod. "If not for them, you'd be dead." She looked at the Thalmor. "Do you have a name, or just hate for humans?"
"Hate?" The Altmer shook his head. "Disdain." He looked over at Velandryn. "Were it not for you, my fascinating Dunmer, we would all number among the fallen." He bowed deeply, one hand extended while the other rested on his brow. "I am Ilcanataer, of Lillandril-in-Alinor, scion of the Spire of Phynaster Rising Upon the Shriving-Moon, and emissary of the Aldmeri Dominion. From my ancestors to yours, I am known." That last was in Altmeris, though it was close enough to Classical Aldmeris that Velandryn had no trouble understanding. Ilcanataer smiled, revealing even white teeth.
Velandryn bowed, and immediately regretted the motion as his head swam. His vision and hearing were restored, but his balance was still far from perfect.
He'd been pouring magicka into his throat, though if there was a wound, it was none that his magic could find. It's more like something's blocking the sound. Still, he managed a rough growl that could be understood as speech. "Truth in the meeting. Go from battle clad in glory, bearing the blood of new kin." Aldmeris had a great many words designed to convey complex meanings; right now ancient poetry might well be the least painful way to communicate. Plus, if I sound arrogant and pretentious enough they might mistake me for one of their own.
Ilcanataer smiled back. "I hadn't expected culture from one of the Dunmer. A day of firsts, but I am afraid we must be away before Thaulanwe bursts from indignation. Rest assured, however, that I am overjoyed to have met you." Bowing again, he turned back to his fellows.
There goes an odd one.
"There goes a dangerous one." It wasn't until Velandryn's silent eyes locked onto hers that Serana realized she'd spoken aloud. Still, she wasn't backing down, whatever reproach she thought his red stare contained. "The way he was acting? Tell me that wasn't suspicious."
Velandryn looked a bit amused, though she might have just been imagining things. He shrugged, and pointed. "More important."
She looked where he was gesturing, and froze. Ah.
They were still in the midst of the ragtag dragonslayers, who had broken back into their respective groups. Many had one eye on them, however, and even now a severe-looking man in Imperial armor was headed their way.
He stopped at a respectful distance, arms crossed over his chest. "You are Velandryn Savani, correct? The Dunmer claiming to be Dragonborn?"
Velandryn's red eyes were nearly glowing in the half-light. He inclined his head the merest fraction, and Serana spoke in his stead. "You sure you want to say that after what you just saw?"
The Imperial didn't back down, but his demeanor softened somewhat. "Served four years in Elinhir. Just 'cause you can pull off a fancy magic trick doesn't mean you've the Dragon Blood." He shrugged. "Still, you did well. Lost some, but I'm not seeing a path to victory that didn't involve you." His arms fell to his sides, then one fist rose to tap against his chest. "My report will reflect that. You saved Red lives today, and that means something to the Legion."
Velandryn spoke then, voice rough and low. "See that it does, and go with honor."
Valdimar was talking to one of his subordinates, but Serana hadn't been paying attention to what was said. She heard "—has to know," and the other guard took off running across the snow.
Serana stepped between Velandryn and Valdimar. "What's going on?" Battle or no, she couldn't trust any of these people to have her or Velandryn's best interests at heart.
"Grisha wants to return to Morthal immediately." Valdimar rubbed his chin and grimaced. "After seeing that, feels like we need to step up our own defenses."
"Then go." She wasn't sure exactly what had happened to him during the battle, but Velandryn's voice was deeper than it had been, with a throaty resonance that stirred something deep within her. It's not fear, so what am I feeling?
She didn't much feel like sharing her thoughts, however, so she just nodded agreement. "We'll be fine from here." She wasn't sure how true that was, but she hadn't much wanted the guards coming along to begin with.
Velandryn nodded. "Go to your people." His voice was apparently returning somewhat, and that strange quality fading back into the deep tones of his normal speech.
The Nord began to turn, then paused. He looked at Velandryn for a long moment, then knelt before the Dragonborn. "Give the call, Dragonborn, and I will answer." He rose, eyes locked on the Dunmer. "I serve Morthal, but say the word and I will follow you into battle once more!"
Velandryn remained silent for a long moment, then extended a hand. Fire leapt into being around his fingers, and he twirled them so that a burning rune not unlike the Daedric letter Neht hung in the air. "Thus is covenant made. Find truth within, Valdimar of Morthal." The guard bowed again, and left to rejoin his men.
Serana chuckled. "One by one, they leave."
Velandryn hummed a tuneless note. "Many fall, but one remains." It had the cadence of a maxim. Or a prayer. She knew that she was giving him an odd look, but didn't care.
With Valdimar, the Altmer, and the Imperial gone, they were alone again, albeit at the center of a rough circle of onlookers. Serana stared at a few until they turned away, but it seemed that everyone wanted to sneak a gander at the Dragonborn. "We should go."
Velandryn nodded. "Agreed."
She wondered when his voice would come back fully. It wasn't like him to use one word when ten would work, and it was a bit unnerving.
"Dragonborn!" A ragged woman who seemed to have no particular allegiance was calling out to Velandryn. "You must go to the Reach! There was a dragon over Ald Druach, and another at Karthwasten!"
"Forsworn scum!" A Nord in blue-stained hides thrust out an arm and sent the woman tumbling to the ground. "Dragonborn! Jarl Ulfric would take you, if you knelt before him and swore yourself to our cause!" The Nord raised a hand into the air. "This victory was given by Talos, and—"
"Still your tongue, traitor!" The Imperial from before had drawn up what remained of his forces into a rough formation, though given their state Serana was certain she could have slaughtered them all with one hand tied to her belt. "The Dragonborn is for the Empire, and will bring you rebels to heel like the dogs you are!"
"The Empire is dying! Talos is nothing! Only through True Faith will we find salvation!" The woman now speaking was swathed in furs, with odd bits of bone hanging down. She had a harsh voice, but it carried well. "Look to Kyne! To Stuhn and Shor! Hail and glory to the old gods!"
"Enough." Velandryn did not shout, but all other talk was silenced the moment his word cut through the crowd. "This victory is ours." He looked half a ghost, swaying in the icy wind, voice echoing with quiet power. "Give thanks to your gods, but that," he pointed at the skeleton of the dragon, "was won through your strength and sacrifice. Not Imperial, not Stormcloak, not that of the Reach or Morthal or wherever you raise your banner." He paused, taking in a rasping breath. "Not of Alinor, not of Morrowind, not even of Skyrim." He was half a lord, holding four factions at bay through his voice alone. "We have earned this, all of us."
For a long, terrifying moment, Serana worried it hadn't worked. I can grab Velandryn, get us clear. She'd have to show her power, but it was better than getting bogged down in this morass.
Then, a great shout came from the dragon's skeleton. "Victory! Victory and the Dragonborn!" It was Valdimar, holding aloft a dragon's tooth. "Claim your trophies, dragonslayers!"
Smart. Clearly Velandryn felt the same, judging by the light in his eyes. He reached out a hand, placing it lightly on her arm. Throat. Hurts. She chuckled, imagining the annoyance in his voice.
"Fun speech, was it?" He shrugged silently, and she resisted the temptation to tease him. Still, it had the intended effect, apparently. "Maybe this is a good time to leave."
The Dragonborn nodded. Find Horses. Any mount. Quickly
"Thievery? From the Dragonborn?" They were now standing shoulder to shoulder as they walked, while conversing in low voices, and she found the intimacy a bit comforting. He's still on my side.
However, as the heat of battle and the rush of victory faded, something else rose in her. An old hunger, never truly gone but now clamoring to be heeded. I used too much of myself in that last battle.
And she would need to feed soon, or risk losing control. I can't let that happen.
She needed to feed, and she needed to do it without driving away her one ally in the world.
She glanced at Velandryn, and the other thought that she had been suppressing rose is response. His blood smells wonderful. There was always a feeling around him that his blood was more than simply ordinary, but ever since the battle's end he had been singing to her. As that light faded and the dragon's flesh burned away, another light was renewed that couldn't be seen by mere eyes.
If I drank from him, how sweet would it be?
A/N
NOTE: Dovahzul does not translate precisely into mortal tongues. The equivalents given are based on meaning rather than transliteration. I am not a linguist.
"Sahlo tinvaak Joorre" – "[I see]the weak voice [Thu'um] of mortals."
"Hi dinok krif!" – "You will die in this fight"
"Vobalaan!" – "You are unworthy"
"Boziik Joorre! Fahliil Dovahkiin! Hin Thu'um komeyt! – "Bold mortals! Elven Dragonborn! Unleash your Thu'um!"
"Hin krograh." – "[I see] your victory"
"Alduin, Zu'u funt." – "I have failed" [The use of the pronoun Zu'u rather than Zu or Dovah to refer to the self in this context is a sign of respect for Alduin]