Chapter 3 – The Soul of A Dragon
Ralof was easy to get along with, Sigrun decided. Now that their lives were no longer in immediate danger, the blond turn out to be quite amicable. He offered to take her to Riverwood, promising that his sister would help them. Sigrun agreed. She had no other place to go, and after such a long absence, little of her homeland remained familiar to her. Besides, she trusted Ralof – as much as she was able to trust anyone, at least. She wasn't sure how that had happened, especially in so short a time, but to her surprise, it had. He was dependable in battle and one of the most sincere individuals Sigrun had ever met. Even the silence between them was comfortable. There wasn't much more the young woman could ask for in a companion.
Riverwood was smaller than Sigrun expected, little more than a few shops and farms. There was a stillness to the tiny village that the young Nord found hard to reconcile after all that had happened over the last several days. Her mind warned her not to believe her eyes; this sense of peace was a deception and would not last. The threat of the Imperials or the Thalmor was never truly gone. Silly fears, perhaps, but Sigrun had learned early on that a healthy dose of paranoia did much to keep one alive.
Ralof led her to the mill, calling out to a tall blond woman who abandoned her work and ran over to embrace him. Gerdur was every bit as affable as her brother. Sigrun expected a warm welcome for Ralof, he was blood after all. She did not anticipate for that same welcome to be extended to her, and yet it was. Giving one's trust so easily seemed more than a little foolish, if she were honest. How did Gerdur, or even Ralof, for that matter, know that Sigrun did not pose a danger to their family? It was as if they never even considered the possibility that a stranger might betray the trust placed in her. Sigrun had no intention of doing so, but they couldn't
know that.
Once they were out of hearing range of any passersby, Ralof told his sister and her husband Hod of what had transpired at Helgen. Sigrun watched in amusement as Gerdur's eyes widened and her mouth formed an 'O' of disbelief. Her comical expression aside, she did not blame the woman. Ralof's tale sounded like the mutterings of a man too deep in his cups.
“A dragon?” Gerdur asked, incredulous. “You don't mean a real, live-”
“Ralof tells it true,” Sigrun spoke up at last. “Like as not that dragon is the only reason we're standing here.”
Ralof nodded. “Sounds crazy, I know, but we'd probably be dead otherwise.” He motioned towards Sigrun. “They had her neck on the block and the headsman ready to swing when it showed up.”
Sigrun shifted in discomfort at the reminder. What he said was true, she realized. The beast's sudden appearance was the only thing that had prevented that swing from ever falling. The damned dragon had saved her life as much as Ralof had. She'd assumed the executioner had fled like everyone else at the sight of the dragon, but if she tried, she could summon hazy memories of a burned body, the face obscured by a dark hood. Had the creature arrived mere seconds later, her head would have been rolling in the dirt. The thought sent a shiver through her.
“Yes, well, it got in several good attempts to kill me afterward,” Sigrun added. At least that debt did not need repaid. The scales were even as far as she was concerned.
Gerdur sighed and shook her head. “Come on then, up to the house. Let's get you two cleaned up and fed.”
“I don't want to put your family in danger, Gerdur...” Ralof began, but the look in his eyes belied his words. They were both exhausted, Sigrun knew. Word of the attack was bound to spread. All too soon, they could find themselves on the run again. Riverwood was likely the safest place they could find to rest up for a while, and the woman thought it was wise to take the opportunity when it was offered.
Gerdur seemed of a similar mind. “Nonsense,” the blond woman put an arm around her brother's shoulder in an affectionate squeeze. “You and your friend are welcome to stay here as long as you need.”
Ralof grinned and clapped a hand on Sigrun's shoulder. “See? I told you Gerdur would help us.”
The woman stiffened at the contact but returned the gesture, falling into step beside the man. “I'm looking forward to a hot meal and a warm bed,” she admitted.
“And a bath,” Ralof teased, wrinkling his nose as he held open the door for her. “You could do with a bath.”
Sigrun snorted with a pointed look at the man's own filthy clothing.
Ralof held up his hands in surrender and laughed. “Alright, point taken. But food first, yeah?”
*****
Her fellow Nord had not been that far off the mark, teasing or not, she later realized. Sigrun studied her reflection in the small basin of water Gerdur was kind enough to bring her for washing. What little she could see of herself was far from promising. Though she'd never considered herself beautiful, the face that looked back at her seemed to have aged well beyond her twenty-six years. Her hair hung in lank tangles, still matted with blood and spider ichor. A bruise blossomed against her left temple, swollen and a livid purple. Fatigue had drained any color from her pale skin, save for the dark shadows beneath her eyes. Sigrun ran a fingertip along the scars that marred her face, lingering on the lowest. It intersected her bottom lip, giving her mouth the suggestion of a permanent frown.
The young woman made a face, watching in fascination as the flickering light from her candle played across her features. Scars did not bother her; only a corpse didn't scar, after all. She met her own gaze, disgust evident even in her reflection as she examined her eyes. Her pallor brought out their hated color even more, the normal amber brightening to yellow. She found the shadows flattering in one aspect at least: in the dim light, the sclera looked almost normal, as white as any other Nord. Save for the odd coloring of the iris, her eyes looked nearly human. Sigrun flicked a finger at the water, a thrill of satisfaction surging through her as the water sloshed and rippled distorting her reflection beyond recognition. No, certainly not beautiful. But then, she had no use for beauty anyway.
It was late the next morning when Sigrun awoke. She hadn't meant to sleep so long but she couldn't deny the good several hours of uninterrupted rest had done for her. She felt better than she had in ages. She found Ralof at the small table, a thick chunk of bread in hand. His face broke into a grin as he saw her, and he kicked a chair out, waving her over. She nodded to him in greeting before sliding into her seat.
“You're looking better,” Ralof held out a plate of assorted meats and cheeses.
“Good as new,” Sigrun agreed, helping herself to a few pieces. “I'll have to thank your sister again when I see her next.”
Ralof waved a hand in dismissal. “She and Hod are at the mill, won't be back until sometime this evening. It's just us for now. Well, Frodnar, my nephew, is around somewhere, but we aren't likely to see him until Gerdur drags him home.”
Sigrun remembered the boy from yesterday, pestering Ralof with questions about the war until Gerdur had chased him off. The boy was likeable enough, she supposed, but the Nord had always regarded children as some sort of exotic species. They were fascinating to watch, but could prove dangerous if one got too close. Even as a child herself, Sigrun had kept her distance. Children talked, her mother had warned her. If such talk made it to the wrong ears, she and her mother would be forced to flee yet again under the cover of night. Isolation, she had learned, was preferable to constant roaming.
Ralof finished eating and pushed the plate aside. “Feels good to be home again, if only for a little while.”
“Will you be leaving soon?” Sigrun asked.
“Not for a few days, yet,” the blond answered, leaning back in his chair. “But I need to get back to Windhelm soon. Still a war on, you know? Hey, you should come with me, join up with the Stormcloaks. You've seen the true face of the Empire. Skyrim needs more True Sons and Daughters willing to fight for her.”
Sigrun shrugged. She wasn't opposed to the Stormcloaks and she had no great love for the Empire. Still, revenge was poor reasoning to join a war. She wanted to know the man whose banner she'd be fighting under before she made any commitments. The risks were too great to take on for just anyone. “We'll see,” she murmured.
Ralof seemed to accept that answer well enough, and for that she was grateful. He changed the subject and they chatted for some time about different things until the two fell into a companionable silence. Sigrun was just getting ready to make her excuses and leave the table when Ralof spoke once more.
“Where are you from, if you don't mind my asking?”
The young woman shook her head and replied, “I was born in Skyrim, but my mother and I left for Cyrodil when I was about twelve. We...moved around a lot. Never stayed in one place for very long.”
“And you were on your way home when the Imperials picked you up?”
Sigrun nodded, feeling it best not to push the bounds of their budding friendship with the entire truth. “It seems much has changed while I was away.”
“That it has,” Ralof sighed. “That it has.”
As soon as she felt it polite to do so, Sigrun left Ralof and went to sort her meager belongings. While she owned little, she'd managed to pick up a few pelts and other goods on the journey from Helgen that, with a little luck, she could trade for fresh supplies. She still had no set destination in mind, but she wasn't going to get far at all with nothing but rusty weapons and a couple of mangy pelts.
It wasn't until Sigrun had everything laid out before her that the woman noticed anything amiss.
My amulet! The Nord's hand flew to her throat out of reflex, but of course it wasn't there. Like a mad woman, she searched her pack, turning it inside out and shaking it. When it failed to produce the missing talisman, she flung it aside in disgust and turned her wrath on the bed. Blankets and furs were shaken out and then tossed into a heap on the floor, the linen sheets soon drifting down to join them. Not even the straw mattress was safe from her fury.
After a second and then third search of everything yielded no result, Sigrun sank to the floor, head in her hands. She bit her lip hard to hold back the tears that burned her eyes and threatened to spill over. After everything she'd went through to get the amulet back, she'd gone and lost the damn thing anyway. She had no idea how long she sat there, guilt warring with helpless anger until a startled gasp came from behind her.
Sigrun whipped her head around and saw Gerdur. The older woman stood gaping in shock as she took in the state of the room. Bewildered blue eyes turned her way and Sigrun could not meet her gaze. Bad enough that she was acting like a child who'd dropped her sweet roll. Now, her hostess, who had been nothing but kind to her, was a witness to such behavior.
“What happened here?” Gerdur breathed, coming to stand behind her.
“I- I'm sorry,” Sigrun apologized, hating the waver in her voice. “I was trying to find something I lost. An amulet. I...” The young woman trailed off, lifting an arm in a motion meant to encompass the mess she'd made of things, uncertain how to explain. “I'll clean it up,” she finished in a rush, frustrated with the entire situation.
Something softened in Gerdur's face and the woman placed a comforting hand on Sigrun's back. “This amulet is important to you, I take it?”
Taking a deep breath, Sigrun nodded. “My mother gave it to me when I was a girl. It's all I have left of her.”
“I see.” Gerdur placed her hands on her hips and looked around the room once more. “Well, you can tell me what it looks like while we clean this up. I'll keep an eye out for it around the house and tomorrow I'll have Hod take a look around the mill. If it's here, we'll find it. That's the best I can do I'm afraid.”
“Thank you,” Sigrun whispered, rising to her feet. She gave an awkward shuffle, still not quite able to meet the older woman's eyes. “I really am sorry for all of...this.”
Gerdur waved off her apology. “Nonsense. Now, give me a hand with this. I came to tell you supper is nearly ready. We'd best hurry, or Ralof and Hod will have it all gone by the time we're through.”
Supper was a quiet but peaceful affair. Gerdur asked Hod to look around the mill for an amulet of Talos the next morning, but made no further mention of Sigrun's earlier tantrum, a fact that won her the younger woman's undying gratitude. Once the meal was finished she helped Gerdur with the chores.
“Ralof told me he's leaving for Windhelm the day after tomorrow,” Gerdur said while the two women stacked the dishes and tidied the table. “Have you given any thought to where you might go?”
Sigrun shook her head, lips pursed in thought. “But I won't take advantage of your hospitality,” she was quick to add.
“That's not what I said. I told you and Ralof you were welcome to stay for as long as you needed and that's what I meant.” The older woman hesitated a moment before continuing. “There is something you can do for me, though.”
“Anything.”
“If the dragon attacks, Riverwood is defenseless. Someone needs to tell Jarl Balgruuf in Whiterun. Ask him to send whatever troops he can. If you do this for me, I'll be in your debt.”
“I'll leave in the morning,” Sigrun promised glad to have a destination in mind. “I just need to get some supplies and then I'll leave right after.”
“Good,” Gerdur sighed. “I'll sleep a bit easier then. Take whatever you need from the house. For supplies, check the Riverwood Trader. Lucan can be a bit pigheaded, but he'll give you a fair price.” She turned and laid a hand over Sigrun's. “Thank you for doing this.”
“It's the least I could do,” Sigrun said, trying to hide her sudden discomfort. “You've been nothing but kind to me.”
“Any friend of Ralof's is a friend of mine.” Gerdur smiled. “Go get some rest. I'll finish up here.”
*****
Lucan had been every bit as fair as Gerdur promised, and it was still early morning when Sigrun left the Riverwood Trader with not only her supplies but a job as well. It seemed simple enough: find the golden claw heirloom that had been stolen from the Trader and return it. Of course, it was now somewhere in Bleak Falls Barrow- a ruin Ralof had warned her away from- and there was a good chance that the thieves who stole the claw in the first place were going to object to her coming after it. The Nord woman hesitated for the briefest of moments then made up her mind. She had about ten Septims left to her name. That wasn't even enough to eat on for more than a day or two. This job shouldn't be anything she couldn't handle. Sigrun grimaced. Avitus had made her do worse for less.
Camilla, Lucan's sister, had insisted on showing her the way. Lucan was not happy with the idea of his sister leaving the village and voiced his displeasure. This lead to another round of arguing between the siblings that had Sigrun rolling here eyes. She agreed with Lucan, but rather than get involved in the squabble, she simply left. She didn't need directions. The barrow was visible from the village, and from what she'd been able to discern before she left, the road went right by the place. Any fool could follow a road.
As expected, the barrow was crawling with bandits, and the young Nord was attacked before she ever made it inside. Two of the thieves were easy enough to take down. Two-handed weapons were slow and clumsy; it was just a matter of being quick enough on her feet to stay out of their way and strike while they were recovering from a swing. The third, far more dextrous than her companions, proved troublesome. Sigrun actually had to duck behind a column to shield herself from incoming arrows and heal her wounds. She kept a wary eye on the bandit's movements, slipping around the stone support when needed to keep behind cover. The young woman let out a growl of pure frustration.
Blasted archers! As soon as she heard the hiss of the next arrow being released, Sigrun released a feral cry and charged as fast as she could towards the woman, axe raised. The archer's mouth dropped open in shock. She seemed frozen, unsure what to do. She dropped her bow and grabbed for a mace at her belt but by then it was too late. Eyes wild, Sigrun swung her axe with all her might, grinning like a lunatic as it made contact with a satisfying crunch. The archer let loose a sighing moan and crumpled to the ground. Sigrun nudged the body with her boot, eying the woman's armor in appreciation. They were of a similar build, and it had to fit better than the Stormcloak armor she was still wearing. With a wicked smirk, she stripped it from the woman's corpse and stuffed it into her back. The dead had no need for armor.
Inside the barrow was a bit easier. The narrow halls and confined chambers didn't allow the same freedom as the outdoors did, but it also meant her enemies had a more difficult time as well. It was harder for enemies to surround her in here, and Sigrun used that to her advantage as she cut her way through the ruins. There were a few traps, but most were simple enough to avoid as long as she was careful. It wasn't long before she had the claw, looted from the corpse of the Dumner who'd stolen it. The golden claw, it turned out, had a purpose; she would never have made it through the barrow without it.
The last cavernous chamber was damp, the roar of rushing water magnified as it echoed off the wet stone walls. Sigrun followed a set of carved steps up to a platform backed by a high, ornate wall. The wall was covered by a series of chiseled symbols the Nord guessed to be words. A strange sibilant chanting came from the wall, so quiet at first that Sigrun had to strain her ears to hear it. As she stepped closer to the wall, drawn by some inexplicable force, the chanting swelled until it drowned out all other sound, a single syllable etched into her mind with such force it left her weak and gasping. The woman clutched her head and dropped to her knees, her mouth falling open in a silent scream. Just when she feared she would go mad, the tumultuous choir stopped, and Sigrun was left panting, the waterfalls once more the only sound filling her ears.
The young woman pushed herself to stand on shaking legs. As soon as her feet were under her, a sarcophagus she only now noticed flew open and yet another of the draugr that populated the barrow stepped out. It gripped a battleaxe in skeletal hands and shouted something at her. To Sigrun's horror, her own weapon was flung from her hand by some unseen force. The woman dodged as the draugr's axe swung toward her, the great blade passing so close to her she could feel the air displaced by the weapon against her skin. Sigrun gritted her teeth and readied a fire spell. It was weak, but all she had at the moment. It served its purpose and the Nord was able to keep the draugr at bay until she managed to recover her axe. Weakened as it was by her spell, the undead warrior was no match for her after that.
Sigrun sheathed her axe and took a shuddering breath as she looked around the cavern. Once she was certain nothing else lay waiting, she gave the cavern a quick sweep, grabbing anything that looked valuable. She found a strange stone tablet beneath the draugr and bent to examine it. Its strange symbols meant nothing to her, but perhaps someone else might be able to make sense of them. She shoved the tablet into her pack and climbed the steps to exit the ruins. Whiterun still waited and she'd had her fill of this place.
*****
Several uneventful hours later, Sigrun spotted the ancient walls surrounding Whiterun. The last large settlement she'd set foot in had been the Imperial City. While Whiterun could not compete with the capital of Cyrodil in either size or grandeur, it possessed a majesty of its own as it sprawled across the hills. As she approached the city's enormous gates, Sigrun was surprised to find a guard dressed in a yellow uniform blocking her entrance.
“Halt,” the man called, raising a hand. “The city's closed - official business only.”
“I have business with Jarl Balgruuf,” she responded, impatient with the delay. “I seek the jarl's aid on behalf of Riverwood. The village is defenseless against the dragon attacks.”
At that, the guard relented and moved aside. As she passed, she heard him mutter something about her stirring up trouble and gave the man a look of amusement. She'd had enough trouble to last her the next decade. While she could not deny that it had a way of finding her, she had no plans to go looking for trouble in his city.
Dragonsreach sat at the highest point of Whiterun, its towering might overlooking the city. According to legend, the keep had once served as a prison to a dragon. As she looked up in awe at the formidable structure, Sigrun had no problem believing that particular tale to be true. The looming spires and peaked roofs gave the entire fortress an oppressive air that didn't quite fit with the beauty of the rest of the city and left the Nord uncomfortable.
Sigrun entered Dragonsreach without hindrance only to be stopped by an armed Dunmer woman as soon as she attempted to approach the jarl's throne. The young woman could not contain a heavy sigh as she clenched her jaw in irritation. This was becoming a habit, and not one she was at all fond of.
“What is the meaning of this interruption?” the woman demanded, ruby eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“I have news of the dragon attack in Helgen,” Sigrun stated, pleased to note her voice carried none of the agitation she was feeling at that precise moment. “And the citizens of Riverwood ask the jarl for troops in the event of another attack.”
Sheathing her sword, the dark elf took a grudging step back. “Very well. But know that I'll be watching you.” She eyed Sigrun's borrowed armor in disdain. “One wrong move, and I'll see you tossed in the dungeon for the rest of your days.”
Sigrun scoffed at the threat and strode by the woman. She stood before Balgruuf and dipped her head in respect. She was not quite sure how one ought to act in the presence of a jarl and hoped her gesture of deference would suffice. Boot-licking was not not in her nature.
Balgruuf shifted on his throne and waved her forward. “So, you were at Helgen? You saw this dragon with your own eyes?”
“Oh, yes,” Sigrun assured. “I had a great view while the Imperials were trying to cut off my head.”
The jarl seemed taken aback by her casual statement, but he was quick to recover. “Really? Well, Imperial business is none of my concern. Tell me about this dragon.”
Sigrun gave the quickest version of events she could. “Last I saw, the dragon was headed this way,” she finished.
The Nord woman listened, arms crossed, as the jarl argued with his steward and housecarl for the next few minutes. The steward, an Imperial by the looks of him, urged his jarl to take a passive approach to the problem, citing some silly fear about angering the jarl of another hold. Sigrun's lip curled in disdain at the suggestion that Whiterun's walls alone would hold back a dragon. If that was what he truly believed, he deserved to be buried under those very walls as the dragon brought them down around him.
At last, it seemed Balgruuf tired of the bickering and put a stop to it. He sent Irileth, the Dunmer, away with orders to dispatch troops to Riverwood and Sigrun allowed herself to relax. She'd kept her word to Gerdur. If anything happened to the small village now, it was not her doing. The young woman paused, unsure if she was free to leave or if it would be best to wait for a dismissal.
Balgruuf's attention fell on her once more, saving her from the possibility of committing some kind of social blunder. Or worse. He praised her for her initiative and promised he would not forget what she had done for Whiterun. It all seemed a bit much, really. He'd already heard about the dragon before she'd arrived. That much was obvious from what she'd overheard. That Riverwood would be helpless against a dragon attack was also something that should be obvious, especially to the jarl. Exactly what kind of favor had she done for him to be so pleased? He’d even rewarded her with set of Imperial armor.
Sigrun plastered what she hoped was a gracious smile on her face and reached for the armor. All the gold in Skyrim wouldn't be enough to get her to wear this, but it wouldn't do to offend. She questioned the meaning behind the gift. An unspoken warning, perhaps? Or was it simply the first bit of junk the steward grabbed from the armory? Her smile turned genuine as her mind conjured images of strapping the armor to one of the wooden dummies she'd seen in the training yard. She just might find a use for it yet.
“There is another thing you could do for me,” the jarl continued. His eyes swept over her in a look of appraisal. “Suitable for someone of your particular talents, perhaps.”
She tried to decide if she should be offended or not as Balgruuf went on about introducing her to his court wizard, Farengar. She was pulled from her musing when the jarl stood and told her to follow him. He led her to the mage's study and after a quick introduction, left the the two of them alone.
Farengar eyed her with the sort of distaste one usually reserved for skeevers and mudcrabs. He spoke in measured tones, careful to enunciate each word. Sigrun had the sneaking suspicion this was for
her benefit and her hands itched to throttle the man. She settled for drawing herself to her full height, noting with petty glee that doing so forced the mage to look up at her. It did little to tamper his smug superiority, but she'd take her victories where she could.
“I could use someone to fetch something for me,” Farengar allowed, as though he were about to bestow some great privilege upon her.
Sigrun arched a brow and sighed when the man failed to explain any further. Fetch? She wasn't a dog, trained to heel at his command. Whiterun was becoming less appealing the longer she was here. These people couldn't seem to decide if she was a criminal or a servant. “What would you have me...fetch?” She bit off the last word.
The mage gave her the grin of a master pleased with his pet's latest trick. “Straight to the point, eh? I like that. Leave the details to your betters, am I right?”
The urge to thrash the little mage was back, tenfold this time. Sigrun clenched her hands into fists as her sparks flooded her vision. It would not do to murder the jarl's court wizard, though the temptation to do so was growing by the minute. As he prattled on about where to find the accursed tablet, the Nord held up a hand to stop him.
“Wait, you said Bleak Falls Barrow?”
“Weren't you listening?” the mage asked, voice sharp with irritation. “Perhaps Jarl Balgruuf has overestimated your abilities if you can't so much as follow simple instructions.”
Sigrun ignored him as she rummaged in her pack. The sooner she was done with him, the better.
Her hands closed around the tablet from the barrow and she thrust it at the mage, albeit with more force than necessary. “Is this the tablet?”
Farengar's eyes lit up as he nodded and carried the tablet to his desk. “Indeed,” he exclaimed. “I may have been wrong about you after all.”
Before she could respond, Irileth burst into the room. “There's been sightings of a dragon near the city! Farengar, the jarl wants to see you.” She turned to Sigrun almost as an afterthought. “You should come, too.”
The little mage's eagerness made her sick. He had no idea of the devastation one was capable of leaving in its wake. If he was half as intelligent as he thought he was, the fool would be cursing a dragon's appearance, not blathering on about how exciting it all was. Let him see how far his smugness got him against the beast. Sigrun doubted any of his so called research would do him any good then.
She wasn't sure why she should be included in this meeting. She assumed the jarl wanted to mount some sort of defense for his city, and that was in no way her area of expertise. They met the jarl on the upper floor of the fortress just as Balgruuf was briefing one of the guards. The man was out of breath and covered in a myriad of small scrapes and lacerations. His clothing was singed, some parts burned through. The young Nord swallowed against a sudden queasiness in her stomach. She was certain she was going to dislike where this was going.
Balgruuf was quick to confirm her fears. “I need your help again friend. I want you to go with my men and fight this dragon -”
“I'm no dragon slayer, my jarl,” Sigrun was quick to protest. This was ludicrous! Bandits, she could handle. Even the occasional draugr was fine. What Balgruuf expected now was insanity. She hadn't fought her way through Helgen just to come to Whiterun and throw her life away at some jarl's behest.
“You survived Helgen,” Balgruuf pointed out. “You have experience no one else here does.”
Sigrun coughed, desperate to cover the barking laugh that fought its way past her lips. Experience? If fleeing in terror gave one experience, then oh yes, she had it in spades.
“Help Irileth kill this dragon before it can attack Whiterun,” the jarl said, the command clear.
This was no request then. Should she refuse, there would be repercussions. Sigrun heaved a sigh of disgust and took off at a trot after the housecarl. She needed to take a serious look at the direction her life was heading in, she mused. There had been so many insane twists lately it was starting to make her head spin.
*****
Irileth assembled a group of guards near Whiterun's gates and launched into a speech about glory and honor that once upon a time even Sigrun might have found stirring. The problem was that the young Nord had witnessed first hand what they were about to face. There was nothing honorable or glorious about the burnt corpses left behind at Helgen. The Dunmer could pretty it up as much as she wished, but it didn't change the reality in the slightest. A chorus of cheering cries went up around her, morale higher than she expected.
“We are so dead,” one man muttered as the troops began filing out of the city. Sigrun put a hand over her mouth to hide her humorless smirk. That one had the right of it.
There was no dragon at the watch tower when they arrived, but smoke billowed towards the sky from several fires and the ground surrounding the tower was littered with stone debris. Otherwise, all appeared calm, but it was the kind of calm that in Sigrun's experience most often preceded disaster. The Nord drew her axe and approached the tower with the same caution she would give a wolf den. A man appeared from where he crouched behind a fallen chunk of wall and waved her back with frantic motions.
“No! Get back!” The soldier's voice shook with pure terror. “It's still here somewhere.” The man's face blanched as he looked to the sky. “Kynareth save us! Here he comes again!”
Sigrun sympathized with the man. She tightened her grip around the hilt of her axe and jumped down into the dry grass. Her features hardened into a mask of determination as she watched the dragon swoop in from the south. It let loose a roar that seemed to vibrate against her bones before spewing a line of flame across the ground. Archers drew their bows and for once Sigrun cursed her lack of skill. She was useless as long as the dragon kept to the skies. The beast continued its teasing flight, circling and dipping, always out of reach, for several long minutes. The Nord raised her weapon in the air and shrieked in futile rage.
The beast must have spotted her because it made an abrupt change in course and stopped to hover above her head. Fire rained down on the Nord, and she threw herself flat and rolled in an attempt to evade it. No sooner had she climbed to her feet when a sudden violent flap of its wings knocked her back down again. Sigrun spat a vile curse as she wiped blood from her mouth with the back of her hand. If she didn't know better, she'd swear the cursed thing was taunting her.
From somewhere behind her, a man's voice cried out in agony. She turned just in time to see the dragon take wing once more, a figure flailing wildly in its jaws. A quick flick of the beast's massive head sent the now limp body tumbling toward the ground. Sigrun snatched up the soldier's discarded bow, her blood practically boiling. She wasn't certain by any means that she could even kill a dragon, but she was damned sure going to try. She nocked an arrow and drew back, following the dragon as it made another lazy circle. She had just enough time to loose it before the creature landed in front of her, causing the ground to tremble. As it began to crawl towards her, Sigrun spied the feathery shaft of her arrow sticking out of the thick hide. It seemed even she could hit a target the size of a dragon.
As soon as the dragon opened its mouth, Sigrun darted out of the way of the oncoming gout of fire. She hacked with all of her strength at the dragon's flank, taking care to stay out of reach of its teeth and breath. She forgot the great serpentine length of the beast's tail and cried out in pain as it lashed at her with bone-breaking force. Sigrun's leg buckled beneath her and the beast took flight once more.
“Thuri du hin sil ko Sovngarde!” The dragon roared. It was weakening; it did not stay in the air quite so long this time around.
Black spots appeared before Sigrun's eyes and she bit her cheek to keep from screaming at the pain in her leg as she clapped a hand to the injured limb and let her healing magic flow. Fatigue hit her hard as she drained every last bit of her magicka on the wound but by the time she was through she could stand once more. The woman limped to where the dragon was grounded and joined in the attack with the others. Her strength was flagging; she didn't know how much longer she could keep up such a grueling battle. One moment bled into the next until at last the dragon fell. It did not get up again.
Sigrun raised her weapon and cheered along with the others. They'd done it! She still wasn't sure how, but the beast had been defeated. Her eyes swept over the assembled soldiers when a hush fell over the crowd. The dragon's remains had caught fire, the flames quickly devouring the corpse and converging into swirls of golden light. Sigrun watched in silent fascination as the light streamed towards her.
Without warning the golden energy slammed into her. She braced herself, but there was no pain. Much like the word from the wall, there was only an overwhelming presence, the sense of something forcing its way in. It did not hurt, but it was not comfortable. Sigrun's mouth ran dry and her head felt fuzzy, as though she'd consumed too much mead. For one dizzying instant, she felt as though she were soaring high above the clouds, the world around her miniscule and insignificant. A sudden sorrow filled her as though she mourned a lost brother, and the Nord blinked away tears. All too soon, she was flung back to herself, the strange sensations gone.
Mirmulnir. The word teased at her mind, gentle as the caress of a summer breeze. Though she couldn't explain it, Sigrun was certain the word was the name of the dragon they'd just killed. Puzzled, she opened her eyes, only to find the soldiers from Whiterun clustered around her, whispering amongst themselves. Their faces bore expressions that ranged from awed to intimidated, but every last pair of eyes was focused on her.
“You're Dragonborn,” one breathed, his tone reverent.
Sigrun shook her head in denial. She'd heard the stories- no priestess worth her salt was ignorant of what it meant to be Dragonborn. Talos himself had been gifted with the Dragonblood. But her? It wasn't possible. She'd betrayed the very god she'd pledged herself to. There were plenty of others more worthy of the Gift than her. For one aching moment, she wanted to believe, yearned for the comfort of knowing her transgressions were forgiven and she was once more a servant of Talos. She quelled her traitorous desires and steeled her spine. It was not to be.
“You stole that dragon's soul,” one guard tried to reason. “Absorbed its power. That makes you Dragonborn.”
“Shout. Only those with the dragonblood can Shout without training.”
A chorus of voices went up around her, each urging her to shout, as if that would settle the matter once and for all. Sigrun wanted to refuse, to insist that she did not have the ability, but deep down, she
knew. She wet her lips, heart hammering, and opened her mouth. The word from the wall appeared in her mind. All she had to do was reach out and take it and it would be hers. A rush of raw, familiar power poured from her throat as her lips formed the word. As soon as it left her mouth, it became a tangible thing, and the people in front of her staggered under the weight of it.
“
FUS!”
A hush fell over the assembled men. For a single moment, even the nearby wildlife appeared to have stilled. Then, the silence was shattered as a dozen voices began speaking at once. Sigrun ignored the talk going on around her and stared at the skeleton. Bones were all that remained of the creature who only moments ago was a living, breathing thing. Her whole body felt numb as her mind struggled to comprehend what had just happened. She'd Shouted. That fact, combined with what had occurred with the dragon left little room for interpretation. And yet, it made no sense. She had
failed. She'd broken her vows.
It was all too much. She needed to get away from here. She needed time to think, to put some sort of order to the madness swirling around her
. She needed to put as much distance as possible between her and the crowd of gawking people before she lost her already tenuous grip on the little piece of control she had left and did something she would very much come to regret.
Sigrun turned and fled, running as fast as she was able down the stone path. Her leg throbbed in protest and she had no doubt she would pay dearly for the abuse, but that was later. All that mattered now was getting as far away as possible.
“DOV-AH-KIIN!”
The word split the sky with a terrible crack of thunder and the very ground trembled under its force. Sigrun's heart stuttered in her chest, a feeling of foreboding settling deep within her. She had no idea what that word meant, only the certainty that she would never be able to run fast enough or far enough to escape it.