Song of the Dragonborn [IC]

[Red Beret]

The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Song of the Dragonborn

Out-of-Character


And the Scrolls have fortold of black wings in the cold,
That when brothers wage war come unfurled!
Alduin, Bane of Kings, ancient shadow unbound,
With a hunger to swallow the world!

-

As an end to the evil of all Skyrim's foes,
Believe, believe, the Dragonborn comes.
For the darkness has passed and the legend yet grows,
You'll know, you'll know, the Dragonborn's come.


________________________________________________

It had been roughly twenty-six years since the Great War had been ended by the signing of the White-Gold Concordat, so named after the White-Gold tower in the Imperial City, where it was signed. The terms had been highly unfavorable, but after the Battle of the Red Ring, the Concordat was the Empire's only hope of surviving the wrath of the Dominion. Many were angry with Emperor Titus Mede II, and some claimed that the treaty was merely a means by which the Dominion could make the Empire even weaker, and easier to conquer later on. Judging by the way the Thalmor swaggered about, one could hardly disagree with the Concordat's detractors.

After twenty-six years of Thalmor oppression, the Empire was eroding, a rusting hulk, divided despite the best intentions of its Emperor and the continuing struggle of the Legion to maintain order in the unrulier provinces. Master Osilius had put all that behind him long ago. The Battle of the Red Ring had been a victory for the Empire as its Legions retook the Imperial City, but it had been a messy affair that had broken Osilius' will as a man.

He'd gone his own way, and begun to study nature and its properties, deciding that it would be better to observe creation than to continue his participation in destruction. Meanwhile, a civil war had started in the north, in Skyrim, and Hammerfell had seceded to continue the Great War on alone, eventually fighting the Dominion's forces to a standstill five years later.

By the time the Empire called upon him again, Master Osilius had settled down in Skingrad, taken on an apprentice, and was providing the town with potions and ingredients. As he was also using his skills in transmutation to turn iron ore into silver and gold, he had first assumed that the Imperial soldiers who showed up at his door were there to arrest him. It had become clear, though, that the Legion had other things in mind for him. They knew of his activities between abandoning his duties as a soldier and his settling down in Skingrad, and the Emperor needed the skills of a naturalist such as himself.

Dragons had returned.

________________________________________________
Helgen

"So, then, this is the aftermath of a dragon attack. It must have been a very powerful creature to do this on its own."

"I hope the Emperor hasn't sent you here to tell me what I already know."

"Forgive my simple observations. I am old."

Master Osilius felt no ill will toward General Tullius, and as a former soldier, he could even respect the man for his forthwith manner, but he hoped the man would leave soon. He didn't like having someone watching over his shoulder while he worked, even if the observer was a General in the Legion.

"I don't have time for this," Tullius commented, as though picking up on Osilius' desire to have him gone, "I have a war to fight. When you finish your research, find me in Solitude."

"Very well," Osilius replied, trying not to show too much relief at the General's departure, "Solitude it is, then."

Tullius, escorted by two Legionnaires, left Osilius to his investigation. There were other soldiers about, but Osilius didn't know how long they were going to stay. They, too, had their war to fight, and Helgen was beyond saving... it was amazing, a whole town reduced to rubble by a single creature. That's what Tullius reported, anyway, and he had no reason to lie.

"I'm not so sure this isn't the work of the Daedra," Maerin said, "I'll bet Mehrunes Dagon is behind it."

"No," Osilius said, examining a blackened dagger, "Dagon was banished to Oblivion by Akatosh himself in the Third Era. This isn't him... though it has the makings of something much, much worse."

"Worse than Mehrunes Dagon?"

"Worse than Mehrunes Dagon," Osilius confirmed, "No, what we have here is much stranger. Dragons have been extinct for... well, ever. They've not been seen in many lifetimes... and yet, here they are. It seems to have something to do with the civil war, I'm sure of it..."

"You're not telling me something, then," Maerin said disapprovingly. He knew that she was as eager as he was to figure out what was going on. To study a dragon... that would be the opportunity of a lifetime. Dangerous, of course, but studying any sentient creature was dangerous, whether it was the goblins of Cyrodiil or the Dragons of Skyrim.

"General Tullius reported that the dragon came right before they could execute Ulfric Stormcloak."

"The rebel traitor?"

"The very same."

"What's the dragon got to do with him?"

"It is very possible that Ulfric could be the Dragonborn."

"Ulfric? The Dragonborn?"

"Yes. It would be a very grave circumstance, if it were true."

Osilius looked up at the somewhat-intact keep and stroked his beard thoughtfully, "Don't forget, though, that there were other prisoners here besides Ulfric who escaped. It is entirely possible that one or none of them could be Dragonborn. Perhaps the attack was all happenstance."

"That would explain the lack of news."

"It would indeed."

"You don't believe it."

"Ah, you know me too well, my girl," Osilius said with a smile, "There is often truth to legends, especially in this world, where things like magicka and doorways to other planes of Aetheria exist in the mortal realm. For now, though, I doubt that there is something here that will tell us anything about dragons, other than their power. I suggest we head to Whiterun... from there we will have easy access to all of Skyrim."

________________________________________________
Whiterun

"The city's closed to outsiders."

"Why?"

"There's been a dragon attack in Helgen."

"We've just come from Helgen."

"The city's closed."

Maerin seemed ready to club the stubborn guard, but Osilius intervened, "Please, sir, you wouldn't turn away an elderly man and his daughter, would you?"

"She's your daughter?"

"Yes."

"She's a Breton."

"Her mother was a Breton."

The guard wasn't going to be persuaded... though it was a ruse that generally worked. I'm an elderly man, may I stay just one night in a tavern with a warm bed? Perhaps it hadn't worked because it was the middle of the day, not particularly cold, and the guard had somehow deduced that Maerin was a Breton... it was strange, she could fool most people into thinking she was a native of Cyrodiil most of the time. Maybe, though, it was time for Osilius to start introducing Maerin as his granddaughter... was he really getting that old?

Though it hadn't been dark when they approached Whiterun, the sun was getting low in the sky by the time they'd led their horse back to Riverwood. One might not say that they were fortunate to get a room--the Sleeping Giant Inn seemed to get most of its customers with food and drink, rather than a place to stay--but they were certainly weary from the road, and glad for a chance to rest.

"So, then, where do we start?"

"Well... that's hard to say. Perhaps we go to Windhelm and see if Ulfric is the Dragonborn."

"And get beheaded on the way in?"

"Perhaps a different plan, then?"

"We should-"

At that moment, the ground shook, and the very air seemed to ripple with power. It was enough to cause Maerin to stumble, but Osilius had the good fortune to have been sitting down. It was over in an instant, much like a thunderclap.

"What in the name of the Nine was that?"

It seemed that Maerin wasn't the only one who wanted to know. There were several voices outside the room who were inquiring the same thing, though in different ways. Osilius went to join them, Maerin on his heels.

"It was the Greybeards," an older man was saying, "'Dovahkiin!' They were calling the Dragonborn to High Hrothgar!"

"The Dragonborn?"

"The Dragonborn!"

"He's returned?"

The bard began to sing a song to please the elated crowd... and what better song than "The Dragonborn Comes," Osilius had to wonder.

"High Hrothgar," he murmured, "Curious..."

"What is High Hrothgar?"

"Don't let any of these Nords hear you saying that," Osilius said, only half-joking. He led Maerin back to the room and took his seat, "High Hrothgar is a monastery overlooking the town of Ivarstead... the Greybeards are the monks that inhabit it. That certainly decides it... we'll start our search for the Dragonborn at Ivarstead."

"But the dragons?"

"Where there is Dovahkiin, my girl, there will be dovah."

________________________________________________
Thalmor Embassy, near Solitude

"So, the Dragonborn reappears in this world."

"The Greybeards seem to think so."

"Then we must investigate."

"With all due respect, the Greybeards won't let us into High Hrothgar."

"Knock the doors down, then. They're naught but a bunch of stubborn old monks."

"Stubborn old monks, who are capable of Shouting like Ulfric Stormcloak?"

"Are you buying into these Nord superstions, Ilmion?"

"Of course not. I'm merely proposing that we approach the problem of the Dragonborn with a bit of caution."

"Very well. How would you go about it?"

"We must find him, there is no doubt."

"Of course."

"We can use him to further divide the Empire."

"An interesting notion."

"Then, once we have no more use of him..."

"Of course. Very well, then, Ilmion... you may proceed... for now."

"Thank you, Lady Elenwen."

"Don't disappoint me, Ilmion."

[KrimpetyCatcher]

"I... I have money! More than you can imagine. Mountains of gold! You can have it, just please... please let me go!"

Abelle looked around the room wryly. The wooden walls were rotten, swollen by the rain until they had fused together. The only light came in angular rays through cracks in the creaking ceiling. There were cobwebs in every corner, and a thin film of dust covered every horizontal surface save the bed. A cockroach scuttled out from the wall, making a desperate bid for freedom. She ground it beneath the heel of her boot before replying.

"All that wealth, and living in a place like this. My, my... You're a very humble man, aren't you Marcus?" Her voice was rich and smooth, yet the undercurrent of mockery was unmistakable.

"But I know very important people! They'll give you gold, if you'll just let me live! Please, what have I ever done!"

"Why, Marcus, you stole my heart! Seeing you walk down the street, your golden hair shining in the sun... I became smitten. I had to see you like this. Just you and me, with no one to interrupt..." She sighed longingly, as if she could imagine nothing in the world she would prefer be doing at that moment. "But," and her voice turned cold and hard as ice, "your lies are starting to bore me."

Raising the tip of her knife to her lips, Abelle savoring the feeling of cold steel against her skin as she decided upon the best way to kill the man. The sounds of pitiful complaints faded away as she examined him. She could see the blood pulsing frantically through his neck, see his bare chest moving as his heart beat rapidly against his skin; as if it knew that it would not continue for much longer and so worked all the harder for it. She strode, catlike, over to the bound man and straddled him. Her lips brushed his ear at the same time as her knife traced the curvature of his jaw.

"I love you, Marcus," she purred softy. One quick thrust and it was all over.

"Till death do us part."

---

The dark, turbulent waters of Riften's canal met her with a vile smell as she walked out. Wrinkling her nose in distaste, the now demurely clothed Abelle made her way topside, quickly losing herself in the throng of the marketplace. Riften was a quaint little place, she decided. It was remarkable how many items of value there were in a place of such squalor: coinpurses, fat and heavy with septims, hung loosely off the belts of foolish visitors; the merchants were shrewd yet fair, and she had acquired a pair of beautiful sabrecat gloves in the few days she'd been here. Choosing Riften had not been difficult. It was notorious for its two trades: thievery and information. If an item was stolen from any city in Skyrim, chances were it would end up Riften. The same was said for rumors. And so here she was, trying to learn anything she could about the dragons. Where they had come from? Why were they coming back now? So far, all information gathering attempts had failed, but she remained naturally optimistic. Surely, someone in this town knew something about the dragons.

Abelle was leaning against a rickety stall when the sound hit. The earth itself trembled, and several less graceful people fell over in the crowd. Chaos descended swiftly and effectively.

"What was that?!"

"Did you hear what it said? Dovahkiin!"

"Dragonborn! The Dragonborn has come to fight the dragons!"

"That means that that was the Greybeards! They must be calling from High Hrothgar, summoning the Dragonborn!"

"We're saved!"

Upon this exclamation, all other words were drowned out in a cry of revelry. Abelle was already walking away. She was not in the mood for foolish revelry, not when there was work to be done. She'd heard of the Dragonborn - with the return of the dragons, he had become the topic to discuss. However, she had thought it nothing more than a myth - a sentiment which had become redundant as soon as that... shout had reverberated through the town. Upon reaching a less densely crowded street, Abelle quickly unfurled her map and did not take long to find High Hrothgar. Her finger traced slowly down the parchment, stopping at a mark just beneath the monastery. A twinkle came to her eye as she mouthed the name of the town.

To Ivarstead she would go.

[Katelyn]

Riverwoods

Was there honor in hiding in plain sight? Pretending to be something you were not and lying to those that slept next to you, shared your meals and pressed against your blade in the heat of combat training? Katilana thought not, but wasn’t asked for her humble opinion or mere ponderings as the companions pulled her and Joseph into their fold. Her travels across the province of Skyrim under the cloak of playing mercenary to the highest bidder were the only viable option for the remaining blades that survived the massacre after the Great War.

Her thoughts shifted back to that of her father, a leader amongst the bravest of men and the center of her world. She looked down at her hands as the fire rose up in front of her, a larger man talking to the members sitting around its comfort as he stoked its core. Their stories of whisperings in the south related to the return of dragons gave her no shock. She knew they were back and that her calling as a blade was paramount in bringing peace to these times.

She had to find him – and find him she would. She started to hum a tune that was stuck in her head, perhaps her father had sung it to her when she was just a babe, but she remembered not.

Joseph stood and looked at the young woman, her father’s features perfectly ingrained into her façade with the breathtaking beauty of her mother. She was a warrior when life should’ve afforded her the promise of being a well-kept wife, beloved and adored, but those thoughts were better left alone as Joseph couldn’t offer reprieve or promises that played false before their determined conception. The tune she sang wrapped around the confines of his heart and took him into remembrance of a time when the blades were alive and well – putting hope and fear into the souls of those encountered.

Those times were passed and yet the spirit inside of him said they were to come again, but it would be Katilana’s time to rise up, as all those of her generation that had been recruiting into the fold of the once great protectors of the emperor. He sat down next to her, stretching his own hands out toward the flames as the darkness rolled in around them. The others were busy conversing, a pint of mead in each of their hands and laughter rolling from their tongues.

“The stories are true, child. Of this I’m sure.” Joseph smiled, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Aye. I believe every word of it. There are happenings in Helgen and I think we might be splitting off from our companions and heading south after they began to rest for the eve.” She folded her arms across her chest and shivered as the wind swept through the small alcove, blowing her silvery blonde hair about.

Joseph nodded. “My thoughts exactly. He’s alive, Katilana. I can almost feel it in my bones. We will find him this time and life will have meaning to all of those that believe it moot.”

She spoke not, but nodded as acknowledgement of her mentor’s thoughts. The dragonborn was the only hope they had to conquer the tangible demons that lay waste to entire villages, no respecter of person or place. She’d only heard stories of the dragons, but never laid eyes on one and though they terrified her, she wanted so badly to encounter one of the mystical creatures, just to compare the pictures she’d painted in her head her whole existence with the resounding truth.

Dragons did exist and whether one believed it or not was irrelevant.

She however believed it with the essence of her being.

[xenon]

The hold capital of Falkreath was not far from the border that Skyrim and Hammerfell shared. Saiyan walked into the quiet city, slowly looking all around. The man chopping wood at the lumber mill took a break from his chores to watch the Redguard warrior pass. When Saiyan looked at him, the man spat on the ground, made sure Saiyan got the insult, then went back to his work. Had they been in Hammerfell, such a challenge would have been answered, but there was no time for matters of egotism. Dragons had return, and with them, the possible ending of existence.

His feet took him to the local blacksmith where he found a much warmer weclome than the one outside the lumber mill.

"Only a hearty soul travels the road these days," the blacksmith said upon seeing him.

Saiyan smiled, coming up the few steps and leaning against a wooden pillar. "Is that so?" he said, folding his arms.

"Civil war bleeding the country dry... dragons on the loose... a smarter man might find more comfort indoors - the warmth of a hearth, the love of his wife..." the blacksmith stoppped beating on the sword he was forging to grimace at Saiyan's leather armour. "Or in good steel armour, at the very least." They both shared a laugh. "The name's Lod."

"Saiyan. What news of the dragons, my friend?"

***

Saiyan walked around the ruins of Helgen with morbid fascination. Wood had turned to charcoal, stone scorched black, a few rotting corpses in the streets. This was the power of a single dragon, so Lod the blacksmith had told him. There was a thunderous crack, not as loud as the groundshaking thunderclap from yesterday evening, but, surrounded by dragon-destruction, it made Saiyan all but jump out of his skin just the same. He whipped about to see the entire thatched roof of a broken-down barn collapse into itself.

Taking a breath to calm himself, he made a final sweep of abandoned city, the collapsing barn bringing his thoughts back to the mysterious event yesterday. He'd been veering off road to find a place to sleep when the rip-roaring noise burst from the sky, bringing an earthquake with it. It had gone as abruptly as it came, but left its impression nonetheless. Saiyan was sure he'd heard words in the thunder too. But that was ridiculous, surely.

***

The road had taken him to Riverwood, a quiant little town with a single inn called The Sleeping Giant. He hadn't been in there for longer than an hour when he caught talk of dragons and the dragonborn. Listening to the conversation as he ate his meal, he learned little in the way of facts, but enough that he had his first real lead. When he finished his food, he left the inn and made for the south gate....

"Hile, sentry."

The guard turned his head to see he was not alone on the look-out. "You shouldn't be up here, Redguard. Get lost."

Saiyan raised his hands in surrender. "Just a word is all I ask, and I'll be going."

The guard stared at him through the black holes in his visor, seemingly about to reach for his sword. Then he folded his muscular arms and looked back out to the south. "My cousin's out fighting dragons and what do I get...? Guard duty."

Saiyan snorted and shook his head derisively. He figured he would get better cooperation if he was agreeable in turn. "T'is a job for the green boys, no doubt, but with the dragons on the loose, you may yet find a worthy challenge at your doorstep."

"Mmm... you might be right about that, I guess... anyway, what did you want?"

"I heard a dragon was slain near Whiterun," Saiyan said.

"Yes. Up at the western watchtower. My cousin saw it with his own eyes. He says after the Dragonborn slew the beast, he ate it's soul."

Saiyan's eyes brightened. "The Dragonborn?"

"The man that can shout with the voice of the dragons. Jarl Balgruff made him a Thane of Whiterun. No small blessing, I'll tell you that. He'll be up to armpits in wine and women. Lucky bastard."

"I'm sure," he Sayian agreed absently as he pondered just how much easier his quest had become.

The guard was oblivious however. "Come now. Get going before I get into trouble."

Saiyan thanked the guard and offered him a few septims for his trouble, then left Riverwood, striking north for Whiterun..............

[Red Beret]

Many of Skyrim's Nords harbor a bitter resentment
of all elvenkind, who they've battled with throughout
history. The Great War may be over, but its horrors
are still fresh in the minds of the conflict's survivors.

-

Riften has earned quite a sinister reputation, mostly
due to the Thieves' Guild presence in the sewers
beneath the streets.

________________________________________________
Road to Ivarstead - Valtheim Towers

"Such arrogant fools..."

"That's the last of them."

"Good," Ilmion said, kicking the charred remains of the bandit. To think, these Nords were foolish enough to think that they could enforce a toll road against the Thalmor. Of course, they probably hadn't known that Ilmion and his entourage were Thalmor agents and soldiers of the Dominion... they had been wise enough to disguise themselves as citizens of the Empire... it was shameful, but it was a necessity. They didn't know who the Dragonborn was, and he might be hostile toward the Thalmor. All of these damned humans seemed to be, even the Legion General that commanded his forces from the Castle Dour in Solitude. It was no matter, for Ilmion cared little for the man himself. These people would all bow to the Dominion one day.

The cart they used was not the elaborately-decorated carriage Ilmion had become accustomed to during his travels, it was a mere cart, and the party's weapons and armor were hidden in various barrels and crates. Ilmion had his orders from Elenwen handy, so that none of these skulking Nord guards could stop the cart to inspect it, not that they'd needed it--this part of the world was nothing but wilderness. He'd almost been surprised to learn that there were roads here.

"We found this on the chief," one of the soldiers said, approaching Ilmion. He held up an axe-shaped amulet, and Ilmion could hardly suppress a grim smile of satisfaction. So this hadn't been such a waste, after all.

"Talos-worshippers, then," he said, "You should be commended for your fine work."

The soldier said nothing, instead sheathing his weapon and returning it to the proper crate. Those who followed him from the towers did the same, and they were off again. It was such a pity that he himself had not been able to cherish spilling the blood of one of the men, but there were things that he left to duty... at least he had been allowed the life of one of them. The girl had screamed as she burned.

Just like the rest of those who opposed the Thalmor would.

________________________________________________
Road to Ivarstead - South Road

Osilius and his young companion struck out for Ivarstead when the sun had risen high enough to clear the morning fog. Master Osilius led the horse, drinking in the beauty of their surroundings. It had been a long time since he'd been in the province of Skyrim, and other than the reports of dragons, very little had changed... at least, down here in the southern part of Skyrim. Maerin was also focused on their surroundings, but for different reasons--she seemed worried that they might be attacked.

"Stop worrying, my dear," Osilius said as she placed her hand on the hilt of her sword for the umpteenth time, "We'll be fine."

"You don't know that for sure," she replied, "An old man and a young woman on the road... wouldn't we make the perfect target?"

"For an idiot of a thief," Osilius chuckled, "Come, you can almost see High Hrothgar from here..."

Suddenly, a shadow passed overhead. Both of them looked to the sky, but they couldn't see anything. Maerin's hand flew to the hilt of her sword again, and she looked at Osilius, who was still scanning the sky.

"Could that have been...?"

"I don't know," Osilius replied truthfully, "To be honest, I just don't-"

"Look out!"

She tackled him off the road just as a column of fire swept past, engulfing the horse and all of their supplied. An inhuman roar accompanied the flames, and over the crackling of the horse's flesh, they could hear the beat of leathery wings. There was another roar, and it was growing louder.

"Run!"

Maerin needn't have said anything, because Osilius was already on his feet, but the beat of the wings grew louder. It was his turn to pull Maerin aside, taking cover behind a large boulder as another column of flame came into existence with another inhuman scream. Maerin looked at Osilius, the fright etched onto her features.

"We need to find a place to hide!"

"You're telling me!"

The two of them managed to find a crevice in which to hide, and waited anxiously for the dragon to pass...

[xenon]

Saiyan left the general store with a map and a little information about Whiterun Hold. He gave the map another cursory glance before folding it up and putting it in the small haversack belted to his waist. His eyes were drawn to Dragonsreach, it's magnificence radiating down on the hustle and bustle of the Plains district. From before he'd even made it through the gates, the imposing piece of Nord architeture that stood high and mighty at the city's highest point left no doubts as to the political heart of Whiterun. That was his destination, but gaining entry could be difficult. Announcing his name and heritage in his best impression of his father might just get him past the guards, though the way he was dressed was against him.

"Dandana?"

Saiyan blinked from his train of thought and looked toward the voice. A smile broke out on his face when he saw who it was. "Amren." The two men started toward eachother, laughing in the joy of coincidence as they clasped eachother's forearms in a warrior's handshake. "I heard you'd emmigrated to Skyrim."

Amren nodded. "Saffir likes it here. I must say, I've grown fond of it too. What brings you to Skyrim, my friend?"

Saiyan's face darkened. "Nothing good. Perhaps you can help me. Is there somewhere we can talk?"

Amren nodded again, more serious of face this time. "Come. I was just heading home."

A pot of stew bubbled in the cauldron and the babe had fallen asleep. Saiyan, Amren and his wife, Saffir shared amiable conversation over supper. Saiyan grew up with Amren in Dragonstar. Through their childhood, one was seldom seen without the other, usually both with sword in hand. Their road split when they came of age, Amren choosing the life of a soldier, Saiyan an adventurer. It had been almost ten years since they last spoke.

"Sometimes I miss the soldier's life," told Amren. Saffir had left the two men to talk. "But when I hold my daughter in my arms, I know I made the right choice."

"A man must follow his heart before anything else," Saiyan agreed.

"Is it your heart that brings you to Whiterun this evening?" Amren supped his water. His friend sighed.

"In a manner of speaking. I'm looking for the Dragonborn. I must needs speak with him at once."

"Ah, this business with the dragons." Amren laughed. "I should've known. Yes, this has got Dandana Sae Yen written all over it."

"Where is he? Dragonsreach?"

Amren shook his head. "I expect he's somewhere on the seven thousand steps by now." Considering his fondness for history, Saiyan was surprisingly slow to catch on. "He was summoned by the Greybeards. Didn't you hear their shout two nights past? I thought it would have woke all of Tamriel."

"The Greybeards," he muttered. "How could I have overlooked this?"

It all seemed so obvious now. Of course the Dragonborn would go to High Rothgar to seek the wisdom of the Greybeards, masters of the way of the voice. There were words in the thunder, he thought. I should've known. He stood abruptly and fetched out his map, unfolding it onto the table. The Throat of the World was difficult to miss, it's titanic mass dominating central Skyrim.

"Where lies the foot of the seven thousand steps?" Saiyan asked.

"Ivarstead," Amren answered immediately, pointing at it's location. "This road will take you around the northside of the mountain..."

"South to Riverwood looks quicker," Saiyan said, all but snatching the map up from the table. "Thank you for the supper. I'm glad to see that you are happy, old friend."

"In a hurry, I see." Amren got to his feet. "Well, it was good to see you again, as brief as it was. If you're ever in Whiterun again..."

"...Of course," Saiyan finished. They clasped forearms at the door and Saiyan stepped out into the dusk. "If the dragonborn is going to High Hrothgar, he will have to come back through Ivarstead. I should be able to catch him if I'm quick."

"You know, you could just stay here tonight and acquire a horse in the morning. It would make more sense than walking."

"I don't have the septims for a horse." He'd tried to buy one at Falkreath, but they were more expensive than he'd bargained for. Though now that Amren mentioned it, Saiyan thought he might steal a horse. Time was of the essence and the tenuous predicament of Tamriel would justify the small crime. A man must follow his heart, he reminded himself. To hide his scheming thoughts, he said to Amren, "Perhaps I'll run to Ivarstead."

Amren grinned. "Through the night?" He made a show of sighing. "Just like old times."

"Indeed. I'm sure if I pretend that you are by my side and Master Brand is behind us, I'll make good time." They shared a chuckle and spared a thought for the weaponsmaster, Nachae Brand, who'd been their teacher for much of their childhood.

"Sometimes, I do miss our good Master Brand." Amren paused for comedic effect. "Then I remember how horrible the son of a witch was." Now they laughed out loud. "Be careful, Saiyan. Skyrim is wrought with danger these days."

"I will, my friend. Farewell."

***

"Get them horses inside, Jervar. Give them a wash down and change the water."

"Yes, father," Jervar answered, biting back the anger in his voice. Though he didn't see why he should hide his true feelings. His father was quite open about his utter disappointment for his son. Because I want to be stablemaster, that's why, he thought glumly.

He was less than twenty minutes in the stables when he felt the alarming grip of leather and metal cover his mouth. His cry for help was muffled to a moan.

"Calm yourself," was the deep and quiet voice. Jervar struggled to hold onto his bladder. "Do you want to die tonight, stablehand?" Jervar shook his head as best he could in the iron grip of the warrior. "Then lie face down on the ground, close your eyes and make not a sound."

Jervar did as he was bid, shaking all the while. Saiyan fitted a saddle to the nearest horse, a black stallion with short, stubby legs and hardy girth. When he mounted, he looked back on the young man who remained obediantly in prone position, whimpering in fear. "I owe you a debt, stable hand. I will return to pay it, one day. Yah!"

Saiyan kicked his steed into motion and left the stables at a gallop. The hoofbeats faded to nothingness before Jervar had the courage to get up........................

[KrimpetyCatcher]

Riften Stables

"Oh, she's beautiful."

Abelle ran her hand over the glossy smoothness of the mare's side, feeling the warmth radiating outwards. She could feel the lungs working smoothly and efficiently beneath the hide, like a pair of well-tended bellows. Her dark, silky mane flowed down her back like a river. Intelligence and curiosity bore into Abelle from those dark brown eyes. This was a mount who could gallop across the width of Skyrim, turn around and gallop back without a pause. Abelle had to have her.

"That she is. Hardy, too. You won't see this girl running away from much. It's almost a crime to be selling her so cheaply."

"Mm. And what exactly is your definition of 'cheap'?"

"Four thousand Septims. Worth at least three times that, I'd say."

"Four thousand Septims! Torvar, you brute, you're trying to rob me blind!"

Behind the mock indignation, Abelle pursed her lips. Torvar was a weathered old Nord, with wrinkles like crevasses cutting lines through his face. She wasn't going to be able to seduce a bargain out of him, and negotiations would be no easy task; she'd leaned against a fence post and watched, entertained, as Torvar had offed a feeble horse to some highborn Breton fool for five thousand. He wouldn't part with a beast like this without a struggle.

"Well, my dear, I'm willing to drop to 3,700 - just for you. Let it never be said that old Torvar acted cruelly towards a maid with a pretty face."

"You flatter me. I've been called many things, but I can't remember the last time I was called a maid. Look at the poor beast, Torvar. She can barely stand. I'd be doing you a favor buying her. For, lets say, five hundred?"

"And you're calling me a thief! Why, I went riding up into the hills with her just last week..."

~

Road to Ivarstead

Alessia wound her way up the treacherous road, deftly hopping over ankle breaking holes and treacherous rocks as if she had been down this road a thousand times before. Despite the worrying absence of merrily jingling coins in her saddlebag, Abelle had to allow herself a slight smile. After two hours of raised voices, exaggerated tantrums and countless remarks questioning the honor of both negotiator's mothers, she had walked away with reins in her hands. Some people would do anything to avoid such an experience; Abelle had loved every minute of it. The art of conversation, of argument and negotiation just came so naturally to her, like walking and breathing. Each purchase was like a fight to the death; the more worthy the opponent, the more satisfying the killing blow.

And Torvar had certainly been a worthy opponent. Despite managing to half the Nord's original offer, two thousand was still more than she had intended to pay. Still, there was something about being able to simply sit back and enjoy the scenery, rather than having to trudge through the mud with the common rabble. The ancient trees, glimmering with dew that flickered like a rainbow in the sunlight; the thin river that trickled lazily by her side, shining with such a brilliance that one could easily mistake it for molten silver; and above it all, the hulking presence of Throat of the World, casting its great shadow over near all of Skyrim. It was so unlike the narrow, twisting streets of Cyrodiilic cities. Abelle decided she liked the change, enjoyed the refreshing caress of the cold air on her cheek. For the first time in many years, a truly happy look spread across her face.

"You were worth every septim," Abelle breathed into the mare's ear. Responding to her master's voice, Alessia perked her ears and whinnied, before speeding up from a trot to a canter. Each stride brings me one step closer to Ivarstead, Abelle thought as her hair whipped around her face as if it had a will of its own. One step closer to the Dragonborn.

[Logrin]

Southwest of Ivarstead

A light dusting of snow swirled above the open air carriage, delicate crystalline structures carried from the overlooking hillside by the passing of an errant gust of wind. It was at once both beautiful and bracing, weather well suited for the hardy Nords that call Skyrim their home. "We're almost upon Ivarstead now stranger." intoned the driver, a fair haired man as sinuous and shaggy as the pair of sturdy dray horses harnessed before him. "It were a good turn of luck you happened by when you did, Wilhelm's temper turns afoul when the Vilemyr runs dry and I'm a poor cartwright on the best of days." His words heavy and rhythmic as they pass over a broad shoulder to the passenger behind him, a native son of Hammerfell glaringly out of place among the casks and salted meats cluttered in back of the wagon. "Then there is fortune enough for us both in this chance encounter." The Redguard's reply firm and delivered with a soft spoken certainty, its remainder given only after a curt nod of self affirmation. "I would be walking had your wheel not demanded repair."

"Aye. All the same I'd like to thank you proper." The bulky northman letting a calloused, meaty hand from the reins and extending it in a plain, albeit awkward manner to the man seated amongst his cargo. "Mornir Hairgut, in all the fuss I can't say I caught hold of your name friend." The simple introduction and offered arm left to hang in the chilled air until they were returned in kind. "I am Bodean of Elinhir and you Mornir are proudly met." Speaking from beneath an exotic tagelmust common to his homeland it was now, forearm to forearm in a warrior's handshake that he managed to pull the Nord's pale blue eyes from the road that curved its way along the mountain. "By Ysmir's beard! That's dwarven metal." Nakedly admiring the sturdy, intricately detailed craftsmanship of the remarkable golden hued gauntlet, a stylized serpent wound about the plated wrist. "No. Not quite." said Bodean, lifting the limb from the lamba that had obscured it with a measure of pride. "It is as much my own as it is dwemer. Forged from what remained at Stros M'kai."

"Then you are lost friend, Ivarstead is a milling town and no place for a smith of your talents to idle. Whatever possessed you to make the journey?" Mornir's speech was cut short, drowned out in a chorus of frightened whinnies and stamping hooves as an inhuman roar rang out in the distance. In unison the two men spoke the same word, though one in exclamation and the other as a steely reply.

Dragons.

[Red Beret]

Skyrim Legend tells of a hero known as the Dragonborn,
a warrior with the body of a mortal and the soul of a
dragon, whose destiny is to destroy the evil dragon
Alduin.

-

Among the Companions' most treasured artifacts are the
Fragments of Wuuthrad, the axe that Ysgrimir himself
wielded when leading the Five Thousand.

________________________________________________
Road to Ivarstead - South Road

The dreadful beast swooped down again, its dreadful roar--or was it a scream?--filling the valley as fire spewed from its fearsome maw. Fire! As if the damned creature wasn't deadly enough! Osilius edged further back into the crevice, though there wasn't much room. Maerin, who had insisted he go first, shielded him with her body as best she could, but it wouldn't do them much good. Already Osilius could hear the crackling of a brushfire--he didn't know how long it would last on the snow-covered road, but pine was flammable, and the sap prone to exploding if it got too hot.

So this is how it ends, Osilius thought to himself, trapped like a skeever in this crevice while the forest burns around us... I wonder if the dragon will find our bodies?

But the dragon seemed to have lost all interest in them... out of sight, out of mind. The leathery wings grew more distant, and soon they couldn't hear the beat of them over the crackling of the fire, but they heard the terrible roar-scream again.

"We should make our escape while we still can."

"Right."

Maerin ventured out of the cave, watching the sky, but Osilius was more worried about the flames, and somewhat preoccupied by the realization that the only way they might be able to study the dragon was if it was dead. The things were supposed to be sentient, but how sentient, Osilius didn't know... nobody had ever seen one before Helgen. It didn't matter, though--already Maerin was pulling him along, trying to get away from the crevice, the dragon, and the fire before it was too late. They'd already lost their horse, and with it their supplies and provisions. It simply wouldn't do to lose their lives as well.

"I'm perfectly capable of moving without you pulling my arm off."

"Fine."

"Which way are we headed?"

"Any way. We need to get away from the fire."

"Without getting lost in the wilderness."

"You're a naturalist! we are naturalists! We'll be fine! Besides, I rescued the map!"

What a clever girl, Osilius thought as the two of them fled the scene, well ahead of the spreading fire. He was glad that he'd made Maerin his assistant, instead of relying on someone from the Emperor's own court, as had been suggested in the past. People were always so quick to pride themselves on their own opinions.

So they would flee, until they were sure the dragon had forgotten them or had otherwise been slain, and then they would resume the road to Ivarstead. Osilius' only hope was that they would not be too late to intercept the Dragonborn... he did, after all, have his duties to the Empire...

________________________________________________
Ivarstead

Ivarstead was a small town, nestled at the foot of the largest mountain in Skyrim, perhaps in all of Tamriel, and Ilmion saw the way some of the citizens looked at him, the disgust registered in their faces. No, he mused, they would not be happy to see the Altmer in their quaint little excuse for a town, riding freely amongst their hovels, perhaps even there to climb the seven thousand steps to the sacret monastery, High Hrothgar, where lived the Greybeards. Ilmion knew enough that they were powerful men, masters of the "Thu'um," but he traveled with a detail of Thalmor soldiers, elite warriors of the Altmeri Dominion, sworn to uphold the honor of their blood. The Greybeards would not find them so easy to fight... nor would their precious Dragonborn.

Ilmion smiled to himself. His was a wonderful job, riling up the citizens of the Empire, making sure that they submitted to the beliefs of the Dominion. Every day they grew a little weaker, and as their hatred of the high elves grew, so did their hatred of their beloved Emperor. And it divided them... it would make it easier to conquer them. Perhaps not Hammerfell, but the soldiers there had lacked the proper motivation, in Ilmion's opinion. The next strike would be the ones that knocked the Redguards loose, just as aligning the Dragonborn with Ulfric Stormcloak would knock Skyrim loose, make the Empire that much easier to conquer. The Nords, after all, were the Empire's strongest fighters now that they'd lost Hammerfell. Once Skyrim was gone... it would be all too easy. Perhaps the Bretons would be next, the Dominion could easily strengthen the Forsworn.

The cart stopped, and Ilmion and the soldiers hopped off. Ilmion nodded toward his men, "Arm yourselves and meet me at the base of the steps."

It was no longer necessary to go incognito, and Ilmion was able to change into his robes quickly. The disgust in the townspeople's eyes changed to a mixture of revulsion and fear... mostly fear. They knew of the Thalmor's power, and they would not bother Ilmion or his entourage.

"We have a long climb ahead of us," Ilmion said, "We should make haste... if we do not catch the Dragonborn coming, we will certainly catch him going..."

[Katelyn]

Riverwoods

The night started to close as the men drifted off to the respective living quarters and the fires of merriment died out. Katilana rose and looked down at Joseph, a gleam in her eyes and off beat rhythm in her heart. She loved adventure and lived for the fight. She dreamed of the days of old spoken of when the Blades were a forced to be reckoned with and lifted in high esteem, but the Thalmor had ended that, wiping a bit of hope from the face of Skyrim in their well-planned war. Katilana needed to find out if Ulfric was still alive, if he was leading the Stormcloak still walked the earth. She and Joseph would be assets to join along his Stormcloak’s efforts.

Just before arriving to the inn, the skies shook with thunder as the powerful cry skidding across her skin, lifting her silver hair and stilling her heart. She stopped dead in her tracks and closed her eyes, just allowing the power to suffocate her. She looked back at Joseph, “The cry for the dragonborn has been issued by the greybeards. I think our best laid plans of visiting Helgen just shifted.”

Joseph nodded, chill bumps rising on his skin at the sound of the monks and the power afforded them. Could it really be true? The wise sages of High Hrothgar would not give false hope to all of Skyrim and alert Thalmor of their beliefs, their plans… their only remaining hope.

“Aye, lass. Pack your bags and meet me out at the southern point of the city. Our exit needs to be kept quiet as our existence depends on it.” He moved past her swiftly, the smell of her wrapping around him as he did.

She could be your daughter, Joseph… get ahold of yourself.

Katilana moved to gather her things and moved through the night, walking up on Joseph and stopping just beside him. “I believe incredible things lie ahead of us, mentor.”

He looked over at her, “Don’t call me that, Kat.” He looked back toward the distance. “To Ivarstead?”

She started on the journey and looked back at him, “To Ivarstead, old man.” She laughed at the new name he’d just been awarded and even more so at the growl that resounded from his chest.


********************

Ivarstead – South Road

The journey was trying and lasted the night and a good portion of the next day, Katilana worried about the older man that walked beside her. They were built to fight, their skill and perception of threat unparalleled, but walking for hours on end had put a damper on their willingness to move toward the threat – even if a promise lay wrapped in its claws.

“Katalina, I want to warn you about what might be to..” Joseph was cut off by Kat’s gasping for air as her eyes looked toward the skies.

“By the eight, Joseph… there is one here.” She looked at him and smiled, not waiting for his response, but racing toward the fiery blast that littered the trees and ground in the beasts wake. She barely caught a glimpse of it, but the beauty, the majesty of the moment was surreal.

They existed.

The animal’s screams filled up the sky and darkened the earth with its birth. Katalina ran until she reached a clearing, voices to be heard albeit muffled to her left. She cared not of the people that were hiding amongst them, but of the creature that hovered above her. She laid eyes on it and her breath caught in her chest, all sense of reason and rational making time cease to press forward. The beast moved toward her, its mouth opened as fire spewed from its belly, the heat overwhelming, but she was lost in a trance.

Joseph barreled into her and knocked her on her side, rolling with her and landing on top of her, his face contorted with fear and anger, “What is the matter with you, child? You live to die today?” He rolled off and pulled her up, moving behind the coverage of a few large trees that stood after the beasts attack. He touched Kat’s hair, pulling out the small embers that clung to her. “Stay behind me and do not move unless I tell you to.”