Jon broke camp around dawn, giving the Riverwood wolves a final goodbye before continuing on his quest. Another hours walk, gnawing on some rations all the way, put him in Riverwood. Very few were out and about at the hour. The Guard-Sargent, however, was still at his post, and Jon wondered if he ever left it.
Jon said, "Hail, Guard-Sargent. How do the refugees fair?"
The Guard-Sargent said, "Hail, Jon, of House Noonien-Singh. The refugees fair well. Several of the townsfolk took them in for the night. The Wood-Elve is even with another of her own kind. Thanks for getting them out of there. Just a few years ago I would have been clearing those savages myself, then this damned war, and now dragons. It's eaten all of our manpower."
Jon said, "And the bandits are never one to waste a good opportunity. You can't do much when your too busy just defending the towns from said bandits, or invaders, let alone digging the bastards out at the cost of yet more men you can't spare."
The Guard-Sargent said, "Precisely. Its a shame too. Skyrim used to be a safer land than this. Harsh and dangerous, but you didn't have to fear every passing traveler as a highwayman. Now entire forts have fallen to disrepair from bandit occupation. Some within sight of the cities. Damned Stormcloaks. Damned civil war. Divines-damned dragons"
Jon swore, "On the honor of house Noonien-Singh, I will slay every bandit and dragon I come across, fair Guard-Sargent. Considerations made for those who surrender fairly, of course. The Stormcloaks are up to you. Other terms and conditions may apply."
The Guard-Sargent laughed. He said, "I believe in the honor of your house. I saw it myself. And I'll take care of them, if they come to my Riverwood. I'll leave you to the Jarl's task, fair wizard. If you make it to Falkreath, Jarl Siddgeir may have a bounty for that mine. Returning his people will also grant you some favor."
Jon nodded and waved at the Guard-Sargent, before continuing to the town's small stable. He hopped onto Valkyrie and said, "Run, my Valkyrie, Show us the meaning of haste!"
The large chestnut brown beast took off from the stable, and out from the gate. She crossed the bridge and hit the Imperial road at a steady clip. She wasn't the fastest horse, but she held his weight better than any of the Arabians he had ridden. They didn't really breed horses back on Earth like true warhorses anymore, at least not in abundance for a special forces team to quietly acquire. They wouldn't do well in the desert mountains anyway.
Valkyrie was a sturdy and dependable beast regardless. She got her charge to Whiterun at nearly a third of the time. The Khajiit were gone as well, and Jon hopped he would see them again to truly look at their wares. If they had more like his probably stolen cloak, then they would have a greater selection useful to him, or would know where to source whatever else he needed. A cruel irony now that he had the coin and wares to barter with.
Jon stabled the Jarl's gift-horse back at its original home. He could see some of the other horses react like they were happy to see their returning friend. The beasts of this land seemed, on average, more intelligent then their equivalents back on Earth. It was most likely due to magika affecting their natural development, or some kind of intelligent design. With real gods, it was most likely both.
Jon received no challenge though the city, except a wave to a yawning Carlotta just beginning to stock the produce for the morning customers. Jon was on his task, and she was not a morning person. Entering the man-door, he saw Gerda just beginning her cleaning of the entryway. He gave her a smile and a nod. There was no court just yet to announce him too, unfortunately. Jarl Bulgruuf was taking his private breakfast with his family, so he wasn't available to talk to. Not that Jon would. He knew the Jarl would want him to go straight to Farengar to have the find analyzed so they both could report.
Farengar was flipping though a tome while eating some cheese and fruit. He looked up and said, "Excellent you've returned, and since your mood seems decent, I'll assume you found it. I also heard about a duel for the hand of a lady. You sure like to make waves, Jon." He finished with a coy smile.
Jon returned it, "The court wizard spying on his apprentice? Seems a little cliche."
Farengar gave a small laugh. He said, "Nothing so mundane, my friend. I just wanted word if you had returned to Riverwood, or hadn't. I suspected you would go there for the night after clearing the barrow. They caught the beginning of the match before my orders to report immediately swept them away."
Jon said, "Well, I wanted to spend the night with a beautiful woman while I had the chance too, but that plan was ruined by a dastardly bard with excellent footwork. I'm surprised he didn't viciously mock me the entire time. I took my frustration out on a pack of bandits that had offended me, then camped out by the Stones." Jon didn't advertise that we was now literally cursed by a Daedric prince, following the court wizard's advice.
Farengar laughed a moment before calming and returning to important matters. He said, "Lets see what you found."
Jon pulled the Dragonstone out and placed it on a clear space of the wizards desk. Farengar said, "A map of Skyrim obviously, but what does this symbology mean?"
Jon said, "Flip it over."
Farengar did as told, seeing the script. "Ancient dragon tongue. Ill need a little time to translate. This passage is small, thankfully."
Jon quoted, "Here lie our fallen Lords until the power of Alduin restore. Its a map of burial sites. The Worm can probably resurrect them."
Farengar shot his eyes towards the man that just kept impressing him. He prayed to every Divine that the Jarl Thaned him. Whiterun needed less merchants and more of this man, especially in the dark days ahead. He said, "You already translated it in between dueling and slaying?"
Jon said, with total truth in his eye, "I could read it."
Farengar said, "Read it!?"
Jon said, "I don't know how, I don't know why. I've never seen that script before yesterday, but I could read what was on that tablet, and what was on the word wall."
Farengar said, "What word wall?"
Jon said, "A big fucking wall, with a short epitaph about the asshole guarding that stone. Carved dragon on top nearly as big as the real thing. Its spoke to me. One specific word spoke to me. Blue-white ethereal power like when the Mage gave me magika. Force. Fus, in the dragon language, and one of the words the Worm used to attack."
Farengar's eyes darted back and forth. He looked at the wizard again before saying, "Could it be?"
Their conversation was interrupted by a running guardsman smashing his way though the door and crashing into a mannequin of armor. He finally got the Jarl, the man collapsed in front of him, taking heavy breaths. He said, "My-My Jarl. Dragon-western watchtower.
The Jarl took his own deep breath to center himself. Every fear was now coming true, but he needed a real report. He said, "Easy son, take a breath. Then say what you have to."
Hearing this, Jon said to Farengar, "Dragon, western watchtower, lets move." they both jogged to the Jarl's throne.
The guard finally collected himself. He said, "Sir, a dragon is attacking the western watchtower. It was flying towards us when I left. Then I heard the shouts."
Jon looked to the distance. He asked, "Was it as big as the moon, and black as night?"
The guard, still panting, said, "Big, that's for sure, but not black. Brown, it was."
Jon said, "Then it's not the Worm that attacked Helgan."
Farengar cut in, "What exactly was it doing?" Jon nudged him. Now was not the time for that question. Farengar accepted this.
The Jarl said, "Damnit! There are more dragons! Get some food, mead, and rest guardsman. You've earned it. Irileth! Prepare a contingent of guard at once, only the best! Ride to the watchtower immediately!"
Irileth said, "Yes, Jarl Bulgruuf!"
The Jarl looked at Jon and said, "I know I've asked muc-"
Jon cut in. With truth and blood in his eyes, venom on his tongue, he said, "You have my steel."
The Jarl gave him a firm nod, his intuition correct. This Great Hero would only be an asset to Whiterun. He said, "You're the only one with any personal experience with dragons. I was going to Thane you for that fact, and the tasks you've preformed; Being a captain eased my decision as well. Now there's no time to stand on ceremony, so I name you such! Go forth and slay this beast, Thane Jon!"
Jon gave a salute from his homeland, and Farengar said, "Tomes! More tomes! They'll help you. Come!"
Jon and Farengar Jogged over to the wizard's court, and Farengar shuffled tomes around until he found what he was looking for. He said, "Here. Conjure Flame Atronach. Summons a lesser daedra that shoots fire. Bound Bow. Summons a Daedric bow with quiver. 100 arrows until you have to recast. These things will dispel at some point, so expect to have to recast. How long depends on the wizard."
Jon quickly broke their seals, absorbing the spells. It was rude to summon a fire shooting daedra in the Jarl's court, but Jon needed to test the bow on the only useful target available. He cast the bow spell, and a swirling purple maw of magical energy materialized into a ghostly, demonic looking, bow. He also felt the magical energy swirling at his back, and reached for the ethereal arrows now placed there. He walked out of the wizard's room, and pulled back a shot of the bow. The thing could meet his strength perfectly. His iron bow and real arrows were now completely obsolete. He let lose the shot, and the daedric arrow buried itself into the jawbone of the dragon skull, nearly passing though completely.
Jarl Bulgruuf immediately knew the score. He said, "Proventus! Get Farengar whatever coin he needs for more of those tomes! Do you have anymore?"
Farengar said, "No sir. That was the only one. It's not the most common of spells. I just happened to have it."
Jon began a purposeful march to the man door. He heard as he did, "Damn, then you gave it to the right person. Divines help us."
"I think they already have."
Jon exited the man door, and found the contingent of guard standing at the ready. They were ramrod straight, their arms and yellow shields at the ready, the horse on them always charging forward. They were covered in the scars from years of service in every corner of the hold, some even missing limbs replaced by surprisingly complex iron implements. The guard before him were hardened veterans, men and maidens all. Whiterun was not sending its best before the beast, they were sending its killers. Terrors, they were, to all who could call Whiterun their enemy. Terrors, they were, from the city of dragon-slayers.
Irileth boomed in front of them, "A Dragon is attacking the western watchtower! The only thing we know for certain is that it made a mistake attacking Whiterun! Our home! Our families! How dare it! How dare it attack the city of dragon-slayers, with the proof of our glory hanging for all to see! While the guard of Whiterun holds firm!? Nay, I say!"
"Nay!" The guards cried in unison.
"To the Stables! March!"
Jon had made his way to the rear of the formation when Irileth won his total respect and trust. He marched at the front to the stables while she brought up the rear down the hill. Emergency plans, both already existing and hastily thrown together, were being enacted all over the city. Carlotta led a procession towards the keep, the cities population of women and children being taken towards the dug in basement of the massive mead hall. Down in the lower sections, Adrianne was directing crowds into whatever stone buildings would offer cover and into the sewers. Fire brigades milled about preparing stockpiles of water to use against flames, the city's wizards putting out any open flames with magic to preserve the now precious resource. Nazeem was even leading people into the hall of the dead as the alarm bells wrung all over.
The people of Skyrim were unbreakable, Jon thought. This was a land of heroes. They were still scared, however. He still heard the crying as they entered their shelters. He saw the shaking in the hands of the guard. The sheltering of the city was not neat, but it was mostly orderly from the general discipline of the populous. Onward towards Sovngarde, they marched.
The crowd parted as the clenched Fists of Whiterun made their way through the streets to strike back at her enemies. The people gave them nods and blessings, cheers and cries. They held up the beads and charms of all Nine Divines, saying small prayers for the warriors, some not caring about the heresy of Talos worship. When they looked upon the man in robes, they saw the truth in his eye, the purpose in his step. The wizard had come to slay the dragon. He would slay the dragon, they knew. They gained hope they didn't have before, and their tears lessened, resolve hardening further.
The Platoon made it to the stables and mounted their war beasts. Whiterun stock was the sturdiest in Tamriel, and they too remembered their past glory. From songs and story passed down from mare to fowl since the time of myth, they remember when their kind ran wild and free over the enemies of Skyrim. They remember Talos Stormcrown, and how he would ride no other but from a wild Whiterun herd. They remember when they alone would charge against the false-gods that had enslaved more than just men. One Thane, one Housecarl, and fifty of the finest warriors the city had ever produced charged from the stables with their steeds and into the annals of history.
They broke the city perimeter and took to the tundra plains. Yesterdays rain hadn't had the chance to freeze, and the charge churned up a swath of mud along its line. The formation was so far tight, a near flying wedge with Jon and his Valkyrie at the front of it. It was good if they were trying to smash an enemy flank, but it was not adequate for a single flying dragon. Jon was about to see how good the guard of Whiterun was ahorse.
Jon's voice boomed across the plains, and over the sound of the angry war beasts. He said, "Two formations! Stay lose! Mass your fire! Hit it from all sides! Where it goes, we go! If you get dismounted, find cover and keep shooting!"
Formation split in two, the housecarl leading one group, and the Thane leading the other. They spaced out accordingly to avoid a single blast from the dragon taking them all out. The watchtower in front of them was half collapsed, and the very ground burning around it. A light brown and tan dragon swooping up and down shouted fire and death at the surviving guard of the watchtower. The tower fortifications could hold about two dozen, Jon spied, but less than half remained. They never stopped harassing the Dragon assaulting them, and Jon could see arrows sticking from the scales of the beast as the survivors hit and ran from the cover of the deflated tower. The guard of Whiterun held firm in the face of their annihilation, every soul earning their place in Sovngarde.
The dragon roared at the guards still standing against it, "Brit grah! Brit grah! I had forgotten the sport and joy of hunting mortals in my slumber! YOL TOOR SHUL!"
Fire leapt from his fangs and down onto a guardswoman caught in the open. Her compatriots never stopped stopped their own fire against the beast, for all the good it was doing. Jon could see they were also running out of ammunition; The guardswoman was only in the open to retrieve arrows from the field of battle.
He turned to the next lead of the impromptu formation he was heading. He said, "Use your judgment! I'm going to try and keep its attention! Don't let up the fire!"
Jon snapped the reigns of Valkyrie and she took off with reckless abandon towards towards the pandemonium. Irileth had the same idea, he could see. Her formation was also breaking off to react to their Housecarl's actions, and any response of the dragon's. Jon cast the Atronach as he charged. The spell was left in his dust for a moment, before a feminine daedric entity twirled out of the ball of magical energy and opened fire immediately on her master's foe. It was a dragon, something she hadn't seen for a long time. Most masters were boring, this one would not be.
The dragon immediately reacted to the magical firepower, and turned in response to deal with the foe. He passed by the two mortals charging in, judging the Atronach to be the larger immediate threat. The spell caster would be next, and was proceeding straight into the dragon's killing field, which suited him just fine.
Jon used the opportunity to relieve the guardsmen with what he could. Leaping over some rubble with Valkyrie, he pulled two full hands with whatever arrows he picked from the bandits and Draugr and threw them tip first into the ground near a couple surviving guard. Irileth did the same with some of her arrows, and they both took off on a wide loop back towards the beast, nearly putting the tower sides instead of rears.
"FO KRAH DIIN!"
The Atronach was gone, and Jon cast another. She once more charged forth at the command of her master, never letting up her fire. The dragon turned to face the mortals again, and was heaving its wings though the air to close the distance. He was lower to the ground, Jon and Irileth began their assaults with bow and arrow as they steamed towards each other. Jon had his summon in his hand, and Irileth a bow of Elven make. Their implements and arrows were more damaging to the dragon than standard guard armaments. The Fists of Whiterun were also armed with higher quality and more exotic arrows. The Jarl always kept a stockpile of more than just iron and steel.
As the dragon was almost in range to cry fire at the pitiful mortals and their summon, Irileth's formation came in from the side and ran under the flying dragon, firing arrows as fast as the could all the while. When they had the dragon at their backs, they turned in their saddles and never stopped shooting. One had hit the dragon near his eye, and it drove him towards the surviving guard at the tower. With fresh ammunition, they made their own renewed assault of the beast that had killed their friends and destroyed their post.
"YOL TOOR SHUL!"
More of the surviving guardsmen had died to the fire, and more were injured. As the dragon attempted to round the tower and once again face the mortals and their summon, Jon's formation met him and gave their own burst of arrow fire. One of the Fists had fire enchanted arrows, and they had an explosive effect when they impacted. Scales were chipped and one fell off. His leathery wing was hit as well by a second shot from the bowman. Their assault wasn't long, but it was damaging. They passed under the beast, and made straight back to the hills to concealment and cover.
The dragon was angry now, and resolved to kill them after he finished off the spell caster and his Elve bitch. They were beginning to annoy him greatly. He did have a perfect angle on them now, but before he could shout an ethereal arrow struck one of the cracked scales, managing to puncture though to the soft flesh underneath. The dragon roared in pain, and as he did Irileth's formation made another pass from the side, peppering him with more arrows. He lost altitude and passed directly over the still charging mortals. Jon's steel left is scabbard and pierced though the damaged leather of of his wing. It was little, at that point, for the momentum of the physics equation to permanently ground the beast.
The dragon fell to the ground, and slid for the dozens of feet his weight would carry him though the tundra mud. Whiterun's assault never let up all the while. Arrows and spells kept pouring into the beast while get got up and reoriented himself in a rage. The Fists had formed a cavalry circle around him, and more scales chipped, broke, and fell off.
"YOL TOOR SHUL!"
Several of the Fists and their steeds in front of the dragon were immolated on the spot from the short range shout. That didn't matter to them. The doom driven Fists and mounts rode ever onward to Sovngarde. Jon came from the side immediately after the shout. He regretted the loss of his comrades, but he needed the distraction to make his play.
Jon leapt from his mighty Valkyrie and slammed body first into the dragon's head. The force pushed the beast's head to the side, and caused another distraction the Thane used to claw his way to the top of the beasts head. It bucked wildly, but Jon's powerful legs constricted it's neck, and he had a powerful hand one of the horns. Jon plunged his steel into the eye of the vile beast, and it bucked even harder than before. The steel broke off near the hilt, and Jon was tossed off the dragon's back into the air, face first with a maw of teeth.
Jon once again accepted his death, Augments weren't invincible after all. He wasn't going to go out without a fight this time, however. Every second the beast needed to gnaw on him, was more firepower being thrown at the distracted dragon. If this beast was the corpse he would ride to Valhalla, nay Sovngarde, over, then so fucking be it. When he died, he just hopped they said he made a difference.
Jon trust his hands and feet into the teeth of the dragon, piercing them all, and halting his fall further into his jaws. The dragon immediately clamped down and brought the augment to a near squat before he was stopped. With a ground shattering war cry, Jon, of house Noonien-Singh, Thane of Whiterun, retired Captain of the Green Berets, Augment and Butcher of the same, heaved with all of his might against the encroaching darkness one last time. Bones began cracking, muscles began separating and tearing themselves asunder, blood was pouring from his nose, and his eyes nearly matched. Bit by bloody bit the superior man proved himself as such. Bit by bloody bit he won the test of strength for the lives of his new people, in front of both man and Divine. Jon was the Chosen of Akatosh for a reason, and all saw it that red day.
Irileth finally got around to the side with the wounded eye, and opened up with a stream of sparks against it. Dark-Elves were naturally adept at destruction magics, and the broken steel readily acted as a lighting rod. It pushed the charge directly into the dragons brain, frying it to a crisp.
The beast roared in pain and fury, throwing the critically injured augment against a nearby boulder. Jon made an imprint of blood on it before he fell to the muddy tundra. Irileth never stopped casting. She chugged blue potions all the while. No matter how the dragon moved, the lighting kept being attracted to the steel and driven into his nervous system. Even if it wasn't, it was a matter of when, not if, he would reenter slumber. It was of no consequence. Lord Alduin would not be pleased with his failure, but he would be woken up again in a few ages for another task, certainly. It wouldn't be good sport if he were truly invincible, anyway.
It roared one last time, "DOVAHKIIN?" Before being cut off.
Just as his dragon soul touched the void of slumber, it was ripped out of his bones and scales, and into the dead Augment laying in the swaying flowers and grasses. Ethereal power burned the what was left of the mortal hide of the dragon, and repaired the hide of the Laat Dovahkiin.
The guardsman woke with a start, and found himself in Sovngarde. He felt the warmth of the honored afterlife, before the cold chill of the mist set in around him. Something was wrong, that was for sure. He couldn't see Hall of Valor. All he could see were mountains. A few hills, and the foot path just in front of him. He heard no song, cheer, merriment, or friendly battle. He also had no weapons, only wearing his guard armor.
The guardsman picked himself up, and began following the path in front of him. He had nothing else to do, and maybe the mist is some kind of test, he thought. Things were almost visible in the mist, and then the haze overtook them as soon as he tried to focus. He could only reliably see a few feet in front of him at any given time. And it was becoming harder to walk with every step he took. What was the test here? Courage in the face of the unknown and perseverance? Didn't he already pass such a test, holding firm in the face of a dragon?
Just when he couldn't couldn't continue another step, he spied a person sitting along the path, huddled over. He powered though his weariness to run up to the man. The guardsman almost couldn't believe who he saw.
"King Torygg!? My liege! I knew you would enter the Halls of Valor when that bastard Ulfric murdered you in cold blood!" The guardsman said.
King Torygg didn't respond.
The guardsman said, "My King? Whats wrong? What's this mist in Sovngarde?"
The near-mad King rocked back and forth whispered, "Alduin. Alduin cometh."
The guardsman took a fearful breath. He said, "The vile World-Eater. He has returned. I had gotten word of dragon sightings, and died from one, but not he end of days. That must be why Akatosh sent the Dragonborn."
The mad king laughed hysterically though tears. He said, "Dragonborn? There is no Dragonborn! There is only Alduin and his hunger, don't you see! We're food, food and nothing more to him! No honored afterlife! No song! No glory! No Elisif! my poor sweet so so fair elisif her very essence in the gullet of the foul beast no please not her too"
The guardsman grabbed his king though his sobs and smacked him across the face. He said, "Damnit Torygg, get a hold of yourself man! You're in Sovngarde, the afterlife of courageous men and maidens! You're here because you accepted a challenge fair for the very future of your people! A challenge from a dishonorable scalawag that you knew you would lose too even if he didn't disgrace the Thu'um! You're better than this!"
King Torygg took a few sharp breaths, and snapped out of his stupor. He said, "Dragonborn, you said Akatosh sent the Dragonborn."
The guardsman released his king and said, "I saw it, my King. With my own eyes right before I died. A man in robes on the biggest Whiterun beast you will ever see. At his side and back rode the Housecarl Irileth, and the Fists of Whiterun. They thundered across the plains like the very storm against, attacking the beast and never relenting. I saw the man in robes do a thing I thought impossible. He matched a dragon in strength."
Torygg opened his eyes wide. He said, "He matched a dragon in strength? A mortal man?"
The Guardsman said, "Aye, High-King. In its very maws, he was. He pushed back with a mighty cry and opened the jaws of the beast by his strength alone, to buy more time for the attack. The Housecarl Irileth hit the thing with her magics, and it threw the man against a bolder. I know in my bones he was on his way to Sovngarde. Then I saw it, right before I died. I saw it, King Torygg. He took the power of the dragon. He ate it's soul. Don't you see, my King? The Dragonborn. He will come for us. We must hold firm."
King Torygg whispered again, "The Dragonborn, he comes. We must hold firm. For my fair Elisif."