User:Minor Edits/Skyrim:Dragon Rising

Morndas, evening, 16th of Last Seed

he storm clouds blocked out the light of the moons over the city of Alcaire, and the rain kept most indoors. Only one beggar noticed the enormous black shadow which passed with unbelievable speed over the slumbering city that night. Townsfolk the next day blamed the bottle of cheap wine he'd been drinking for the pauper's ravings about the flying ink blot he saw heading out into the Iliac Bay. But the shadow was real.

The shadow's destination, the tall grey obelisk on the Isle of Balfiera, went by many names. To the people of the Iliac Bay, it was the Balfiera Tower, though some still knew it as the Direnni Tower, the center of the once-powerful Direnni Clan of elves. While they had once wielded the power to topple empires, the Direnni were mere squatters in this place, and no one has ever solved its greatest mysteries. Before the Direnni claimed it, it was the Adamantine Tower, the Ur-Tower. The First Tower. Legends speak of it as the place where the gods planned the world and, later, plotted for its survival at the cost of their own. The single oldest structure on Tamriel, its construction dates back to the beginning of known time.

The circular center spire of the ancient palace jutted hundreds of feet into the sky. Though the complex had been renovated, expanded upon, and repaired over the ages, the core of the tower remained immutable: the seamless, smooth cylinder of metal, over half of which was buried into the ground, could not even be scratched. No one could even complete the relatively pedestrian task of mapping the multiple levels of untamed tunnels and underground chambers which honeycombed Balfiera, all of which led back to the tower. As awe-inspiring as the visible tower was, visitors could not comprehend the complexity of what was beneath their feet.

For thousands of years, the tower had stood as a meeting place where the kingdoms of the Iliac Bay could parlay. It had long been speculated the tower fostered a sense of conciliation, and this, ironically, made it a chief factor in the region's historic diversity - in the presence of the tower, adversaries became more inclined to barter with their opponents rather than crush them.

On this night, as the enormous black shadow alit upon its roof, the tower would host a meeting the likes of which even it had never seen before.

PAH GRIND HET!

The alien thunder crackled across the bay, but the true message traveled even faster than the sound. Hundreds of feet below, the Castellan of Balfiera marshaled his guards in the expansive stone courtyard. In a few minutes, all were assembled, though their readiness ranged from fully armed and armored to half-naked and drunk.

The Castellan surveyed the guards grimly and called, "I don't know what that noise was, but-"

STRUN BAH QO!

Everyone covered their ears and looked up. Their attention was quickly drawn to the sky itself as the clouds began spinning around the tower. Yellow dots appeared from the cyclone - yellow dots which quickly grew into balls of fire. The screaming and running began, but many were rooted in place by fear and awe. They watched as two of the fireballs passed the apex of the tower, and for a moment, their enemy was revealed in red fire. A black, horned head resting on a long, serpentine neck pointed down at them. Its maw, large enough to swallow a man whole, opened wide, and that was the last thing many saw before being consumed in liquid fire.

Alduin the World-Eater breathed flames onto the dots below, adding to the storm of fire which engulfed the island. Quickly, nothing remained moving outside, though the great dragon felt tremors as his fireballs continued smashing into the tower below, destroying portions of the stone facade and revealing patches of the metal core underneath. In time, the unnatural storm subsided, and all that remained was the natural rain and the silent lightning which shot from cloud to cloud above.

Hours passed. Having driven away his uninvited guests, Alduin just sat there, still as a statue, his head held high. He showed no interest in finishing off the citizenry who cowered inside the tower or the terrified wounded outside who had crawled into ditches. Below him, however, the courtyard was filling again. All over western Tamriel and the isles of the Padomaic Ocean that night, they responded to his call, using magic to propel them to the isle at supernatural speed. They milled around on the scorched stone and muttered amongst each other until the early, dark hours of Tirdas, when the last few stragglers arrived. Alduin finally looked down at those he had summoned.

Twenty dragons filled the courtyard of the Adamantine Tower. Scales of all colors glimmered in the rain and lightning as they fell into silence and stared up as the Firstborn of Akatosh addressed them.

DOV. BORMAHU LOS DILON, MED NUST WO MEYZ USI. ZU'U HORVUTAAN WAH QOTHI FUL HIM MIINNE AAL AAK. ROK LAAN AHMIKI ORIN KO DINOK. NUZ MAHI OBLAAN DUNI. FAAL RAH WAHLAAN BOVULAAN. MU KOS FAAL PRUZAAN SE KIIRU. FEN NI AAM BRENDONNE! FEN NI DRUN FAAL DINOKSETIID! FEN NI DAAN FAAL DOV! FEN DAAL MOROU! FEN STIN FAAL DOV NOL FAAL JOORRE! FEN NOS MAAR KOTIN FAAL SILLESEJOOR AHRK FUS QIILAAN. SARAAN, FAAL BRONNE, RUZ FAAL KRENT JUNAARRE DO MUZ, FAHLIILLE, SIVAASSE, AHRK BRUNIIKES. DRUN ROTI WAH FRONU: AAVI, AHRK LAHNEY MAHFAERAAK VOTH NI FAAS SE DINOK!

Fellow dragons. Our Father is dead, like They Who Came Before Him. I have called you to his tomb so your eyes may guide you. He wanted my service even in death. But his fall ended his grace. The Gods of Creation have fled. We are the best of their creation. I will not serve specters! I will not bring the End of Time! I will not doom the dragons! I will return our glory! I will free the dragons from the mortals! I will strike terror into the lesser souls and force them to bow. First, the Nords, then the broken kingdoms of men, elves, beasts, and savages. Bring my words to our kin: join me, and live forever with no fear of death!

The dragons below roared together, and though the people of the Iliac Bay did not really know why, a cold chill crept up their spines and into their hearts.

Middas, noon, 18th of Last Seed

dragon's been sighted nearby," Irileth continued in the study of Farengar Secret-Fire. She looked at the Nord in the studded armor, who she remembered was the one who brought the news about Helgen. "You should come, too."

"A dragon! How exciting!" Farengar was bubbling with enthusiasm. "Where was it seen? What was it doing?"

Irileth ignored his questions as she led them to the Jarl. "I'd take this a bit more seriously if I were you," she remarked. "If a dragon decides to attack Whiterun, I don't know if we can stop it." She stepped up her pace as they approached the stairs. "Let's go."

The meeting area behind and above Balgruuf's throne was alive with activity. Proventus Avenicci was laying out maps on the table while guardsmen divvied up weaponry and armor. Balgruuf himself had just started talking to a Whiterun guard as Irileth approached with the wizard and the Nord in tow.

"So, Irileth tells me you came from the western watchtower?" the Jarl was asking.

"Yes, my lord," the guard replied nervously.

"Tell him what you told me. About the dragon," Irileth interjected.

"Uh … that's right," the guard stuttered. "We saw it coming from the south. It was fast … faster than anything I've ever seen."

"What did it do?" Balgruuf persisted. "Is it attacking the watchtower?"

"No, my lord," the guard replied, slowly becoming more sure of himself. "It was just circling overhead when I left. I never ran so fast in my life … I thought it would come after me for sure."

"Good work, son," Balgruuf said, gripping the guard's shoulder. "We'll take it from here. Head down to the barracks for some food and rest. You've earned it. Irileth," he said, turning to the Dunmer. "You'd better gather some guardsmen and get down there."

Irileth nodded. "I've already ordered my men to muster near the main gate."

"Good. Don’t fail me," Balgruuf ordered, clearly a little on edge. Turning his attention to the nameless Nord, Balgruuf motioned him forward. "There's no time stand on ceremony, my friend. I need your help again."

"Well…," the Nord mused, thinking. "If the dragon's at the western watchtower, it seems like we want to head east."

The Jarl tilted his head, refusing to get side-tracked. "I want you to go with Irileth and help her fight this dragon," he declared.

"Never done that before. Run from a dragon, sure, but -"

"You survived Helgen," Balgruuf interrupted. "So you have more experience with dragons than anyone else here. But I haven't forgotten the service you did for me in retrieving the Dragonstone for Farengar. As a token of my esteem, I have instructed Avenicci that you are now permitted to purchase property in the city," he continued as he grabbed a helmet from the array of armor on the table. "And please, accept this gift from my personal armory."

The helmet was a simple one made of hide, but it had the sheen of magic to it. The Nord accepted it, brought a fist up to his chest in salute, and immediately abandoned his cowl in favor of the helmet's protection. Meanwhile, Farengar said eagerly, "I should come along. I would very much like to see this dragon."

"No," Ulfric said, raising a hand. "I can't afford to risk both of you. I need you here working on ways to defend the city."

"As you command," Farengar sighed.

"One last thing, Irileth," Ulfric called to the Dunmer as she started to walk away. "This isn’t a death or glory mission. I need to know what we're dealing with."

"Don't worry, my lord. I'm the very soul of caution," Irileth replied lightheartedly.

e’re so dead," a guard muttered to his friend hopelessly.

"You heard right, I said a dragon!" Irileth yelled at the guards assembled at Whiterun's gate as she prowled back and forth in front of them. "I don't much care where it came from or who sent it. What I do know is that it's made the mistake of attacking Whiterun!"

"Now we're in for it!" somebody whispered. The guards were clearly drenched, miserable, and terrified at the prospect of attacking such a monster.

"But Housecarl…" another one asked. "How can we fight a dragon?"

"That's a fair question," she admitted. "None of us have ever seen a dragon before, or expected to face one in battle. But we are honorbound to fight it, even if we fail." Irileth immediately regretted her words, but pressed on. "This dragon is threatening our home … our families! Could you call yourselves Nords if you ran from this monster? Are you going to let me face this thing alone?"

"We're so dead," the guard whispered again.

"But it's more than our honor at stake," Irileth continued. "Think of it - the first dragon seen in Skyrim since the last age. The glory of killing it is ours - if you're with me! Now what do you say? Should we go kill us a dragon?"

As the men gave a lukewarm cheer, Irileth looked over to discover the Nord in studded armor standing next to her. "You all right? You look like you're about to fall over."

"Damn, is it obvious?" the Nord asked. Yawning, he added, "Those draugr didn't give me a chance to sleep."

"You sure you're ready for this?" Irileth asked dubiously. The Nord was clearly loopy from sleep deprivation; he was still mouthing the word "draugr" as she spoke.

"Not really. But I got a new spell book from Farengar before I left, and he said this talisman would help ward off fire," the Nord mumbled, gesturing at the gold necklace he wore.

Irileth heard the jingle of armor and saw a tall Nord woman in plate armor approach them. "Ah, there you are," the Nord said. "Irileth, this is Uthgerd. She's agreed to help us kill this thing."

"I know who she is; I rejected her for service in the guard. Why would we want the help of a failed Companion?" Irileth asked disdainfully.

Uthgerd clutched the hilt of her sword, but the Nord shoved himself between the two women. "Not failed. Unbroken," he retorted. "The Companions turned her away for being too deadly. I don't think that will pose a problem here. And if you don't think we need all the help we can get, then you're a damn fool."

Irileth didn't respond, as the Nord still had enough sense to lower his voice. If the men had heard his remark, she'd have to kill him. Or them. "Let's move out, then!" Irileth called, and the guards all followed her out of the gates. The Nord sighed and followed at a slower pace, Uthgerd at his side.

Though Irileth was desperate to get there quickly, the watchtower was a league away from the city. She set the pace at a light jog so that the men would be ready to fight upon their arrival. In the distance, smoke billowed from their destination, growing ever larger as they neared. As the group trudged along, the only sounds were the jingling of gear and the splashing of boots through puddles. Each guard silently tried to mentally prepare for what laid ahead.

The Western Watchtower of Whiterun was nearly as old as the city itself. It was built to help protect the city during the War of Succession in the First Era, when a new High King could not be chosen and the jarls turned on each other. The watchtower proved too useful to be abandoned after the war, as the farms around Whiterun still need protection from bandits and the various creatures of Skyrim. For ages, travelers in the area had recognized it as the line between the wild tundra of the hold and the civilization of Whiterun. Even the giants seemed to recognize this, and few of them ventured past the tower unless a mammoth strayed too close to the city.

As Irileth approached the watchtower, however, the once-mighty landmark was in ruins. Swathes of fire burned all around it, the great stone ramps to its entrances laid shattered like they had been nothing more fragile glass, and she detected the familiar scent of burning human flesh in the air. Fire poured out of a gaping hole in the side of the tower on the second level, and it looked like the whole structure would collapse before long.

"No signs of any dragon right now," Irileth remarked, struggling to sound nonchalant. "But it sure looks like he's been here." Turning to the guards, she called, "I know it looks bad, but we've got to figure out what happened. And if that dragon is still skulking around somewhere. Spread out and look for survivors. We need to know what we're dealing with."

"Hello!"

Irileth turned to look at the speaker and saw the mad Nord talking to a pile of rubble. As she moved closer, though, she noticed two guardsmen huddling underneath an overhanging piece of stone. Both appeared to be wounded, and a great deal of blood had pooled underneath them. The Nord put away his bow and his hands started to glow with the white light of restoration magic.

As he moved closer, one of the guards feebly waved his arm, gesturing for them to go away. "No! Get back!" he struggled to say. "It's still here somewhere! Hroki and Tor just got grabbed when they tried to make a run for it!"

Before Irileth could question them, one of the other guards uttered, "Kynareth save us, here it comes again."

Irileth followed the guard's gaze to the southern mountains. Through the rain, she saw what at first seemed like a butterfly. But it was getting bigger. Much bigger. "Here he comes!" she yelled, drawing her elven bow. "Find cover and make every arrow count!" She followed her own advice, ducking down near the wounded guards as she nocked an arrow. Uthgerd, sword drawn, crouched next to her.

"Beautiful…" the Nord sighed, nocking his own arrow and taking aim.

"Get down, you fool!" Irileth shouted. The Nord was still standing in the open, lining up his shot. However, the dragon didn't attack, but instead soared over the tower, and Irileth's mouth went agape as she got a good look at it. Seeing the enormous skull of Numinex in Dragonsreach did nothing to prepare her for the fearsome size and tangible malevolence of a real, live dragon. The claws on its powerful back legs looked as long as short swords. It flew like an eagle with its bat-like wings, but she could see the wings were attached to arms.

The spell was broken as she heard the twang of an arrow, which rose up to puncture its wing, and she heard the beast snort as if stung. The Nord whistled his pleasure at finding his target.

"By Azura," Irileth whispered. "It's a dragon."

"You're a little a slow on the uptake, aren't ya?" Uthgerd asked gruffly.

"I just - I had assumed this was just a big dragonling; I saw plenty of those in High Rock. But that is an actual dragon," Irileth stressed. "We need battlemages, a whole company of archers-"

"We've got what we've got; it's coming around again, look out!" Uthgerd yelled. As the dragon bored down on them again, the Nord and the other archers let loose, as did Irileth a moment later. Uthgerd stayed huddled, having only her sword. Some arrows stuck the dragon, but they seemed to do little but sting the massive creature. The Nord saw it open its mouth as it approached, and summoned green-hued energy to his hand. As the dragon unleashed a gout of liquid fire, the Nord's hand shot forward, and his whole body glimmered the same green color. The flames seemed to hit the Nord, but just bounced off his body. The bow he was using, however, was quickly charred and broken. The archer behind him took the full brunt of the blast and screamed in agony as two guards ran forward to try and extinguish his burning flesh.

The Nord dropped his ruin weapon and smiled. "Oakflesh works great!" he remarked to no one in particular. He summoned white energy into his hands and unleashed it at the burned guard until the white energy finally sputtered and died. It seemed to be enough, as skin returned to the man's face, though it remained dark red and swollen.

The guard coughed and groaned, clinging to life, and Uthgerd dragged him back to the overhang with her. "Take cover!" she yelled. Everyone found a rock or a ditch to hide at, and the dragon's next blistering attack hit no one. "Keep him busy," she said, breaking cover and running for the entrance to the tower without waiting for anyone to reply.

Frustrated, the dragon landed with a ground-shaking crash, and the guards ran forward through the mud to engage it from various sides. The creature unleashed another steady gout of fire, burning one guard to a crisp. Another guard ran in behind it, but was hit by the dragon's tail, which it swung back and forth like a tremendous hammer. The guard went flying, and there was an loud crack as his arms met one of the enormous stone boulders from the ruined tower. Three other guards got within striking distance, and their weapons drew blood, but not much. The dragon sent one flying with a kick from his back leg, then grabbed another by the leg and started shaking him like a dog ripping apart a rabbit. The guard's swinging, broken body sent the third guard sprawling. The dragon release the guard's crumpled form and moved to pounce on the third guard flailing in the mud, when suddenly the Nord's mace found its face, sending a couple scales flying. Irileth and the remaining archers let loose another salvo, and the dragon's wings and body became riddled with more arrows. Another guard stabbed it in it's left wing, and the wyrm roared as it beat its wings, trying to retreat into the sky.

That is when Uthgerd jumped, yelling, through the hole in the second story of the tower and landed on the dragon's back, impaling it with her sword. The creature howled louder than a pack of werewolves. She nearly was impaled herself on the massive spikes lining its back, but her glass armor held against them. She couldn't keep her balance on the slippery scales, however, and the dragon shrugged its mighty shoulders, heaving her into the air and into the debris at the base of the tower. As it did, its shoulders smashed into the destroyed tower, and giant stone bricks rained down on it.

Seeing a stone block hit the dragon's face, the Nord got an idea. He summoned up all the magical energy he had left and shot a ball of fire at the base of the tower. The tower didn't fall, but the whole side of stone blocks gave away, and many of them pelted the dragon below. The guards began to cheer, but the dragon was already shrugging off the stones and scrambling sideways away from the tower.

The dragon tried to take off again, but it stumbled, its head hitting the ground, and the Nord again seized the opportunity. He leaped on the dragon's neck, using its crooked horns as support, and began beating the creature savagely with his mace. It tried to shake him off as it roared, but the Nord gripped as hard as he could with his legs and his free hand as he smashed at the creature's skull, again and again. Even after it stopped moving, he smashed its face again several times until he was sure it would not get up.

The Nord fell off the dragon's corpse, exhausted, and laid there in the mud, damp and miserable, ready to go to sleep. He vaguely heard the sound of cheering as if in some far-off place. Then dark hands were pulling him up and slapping his face, and he focused on the face of Irileth. The guards and Uthgerd, all bloodied and covered in mud, came into view behind her, grasping hands and yelling out their victory.

"You did it, you crazy n'wah!" Irileth yelled jubilantly, shaking the Nord as the guards gathered the wounded. "You made that bastard pay for Helgen."

"No, I didn't," the Nord replied wearily, taking off his helmet and shaking his head.

Irileth's brow furrowed, then she nodded. "Right, we all did it! You all go home heroes today, guards of Whiterun!" she yelled to the guards, raising her bow above her head. The guards roared and saluted her back, some beating their weapons against their shields.

In the cacophony, Irileth almost didn't hear the Nord's response. "No, I mean, that wasn't the right dragon."

Irileth did a double take. "What?" She asked, incredulous.

"That was a different dragon," the Nord said slowly, leaning against the giant stone debris behind him. Taking a deep breath, he added, "It was smaller, less powerful. It's brown and white, not black." His green eyes pierced into Irileth's happiness like a dagger. In a more serious, almost elderly voice she hardly recognized, he gravely declared, "There are more of these things, and they mean to wipe us out."

"Shut up!" Irileth hissed quietly, her good mood thoroughly crushed. "This was a victory, and men died for it, so keep your crazy mouth shut and let them enjoy being alive for a moment." Turning to the men, she yelled, "Damned good shooting, boys!"

They started to cheer when one of them, alarmed, shouted, "What's happening?"

Irileth followed his gaze and turned back to the creature. It seems to be … smoldering, though no fire was near it. The scales were slinking off its frame like wax from a candle. "Everybody get back!" she yelled, back-pedaling.

The Nord, however, continued to lean against the stone debris, too tired to move as the sky seemed to darken. "This is- I don't…" He barely made a step before white energy shot from the corpse through him, and into him. The shining tendrils of light seemed to cut through the air itself, as though it were something solid they could reach out and grasp. The guards gasped as this phenomenon expanded, and white tendrils moving faster than the eye could follow wrapped around the Nord, piercing his chest and circling him in a dazzling display.

The Nord just stood there, a look of pure surprise on his face the others behind him couldn't see, as a power passed through his rigid frame that he could not comprehend. Not just through his body, but through his mind. His eyelids flickered as he felt his very consciousness expand in time with his beating heart. He was like a baby, just sensing the world for the first time, and was equally unable to fathom what was happening. The wind whipped around with such force that the remaining fires on the ground were put out and more stones fell from the tower's façade. The warriors watched, awed, for what seemed like a full minute. Finally, the light began to ebb, the wind settled, and all that remained was the Nord, gasping for breath next to the white bones of the fallen dragon, its scales piled up around it.

The Nord slowly turned, a stunned look stuck on his face. "...I have got to do that again!"

Irileth was at a loss for words, but Hrolgeir, a guard native to Whiterun, stepped forward. "I can't believe it!" he exclaimed in his thick Whiterun accent. "You're … Dragonborn …"

"Dragonborn?" the Nord said, as if testing the word on his tongue. "What do you mean?"

"In the very oldest tales, back from when there were still dragons in Skyrim, the Dragonborn would slay dragons and steal their power," Hrolgeir declared, addressing the whole assembly. He turned back to the Nord quickly. "That's what you did, isn't it? Absorbed that dragon's power?"

The Nord looked a bewildered for a moment and shrugged, his weariness returning in waves. "I don't know what happened to me." He began filling his bag with dragon bones and scales.

"There's only one way to find out," Hrolgeir replied, pointing away from the guards, in the direction of the tower. "Try to Shout … that would prove it. According to the old legends, only the Dragonborn can Shout without training, the way the dragons do."

A wounded archer, just limping up to the assembly, interrupted. "Dragonborn?" she asked. "What are you talking about?"

Another guard, Chet, ignored him and chimed in, "That's right! My grandfather used to tell stories about the Dragonborn. Those born with the Dragon Blood in 'em," he summarized. "Like old Tiber Septim himself."

Yet another spoke up. "I never heard of Tiber Septim killing any dragons."

"There weren't any dragons then, idiot," Hrolgeir retorted. "They're just coming back now for the first time in … forever."

"But the old tales tell of the Dragonborn who could kill dragons and steal their power," Chet added, his eyes widening as he looked at the Nord. "You must be one!"

"What do you say, Irileth?" Hrolgeir asked, cutting through the chatter. "You're being awfully quiet."

"Come on, Irileth, tell us, do you believe in this Dragonborn business?"

"Hmph," Irileth finally huffed, thinking. "Some of you would be better off keeping quiet than flapping your gums on matters you don't know anything about," she barked. The Dunmer walked over to the dragon bones, spreading her arms. "Here's a dead dragon, and that's something I definitely understand. Now we know we can kill them," she declared, raising a fist. With a glance at the Nord, she added, "But I don't need some mythical Dragonborn. Someone who can put down a dragon is more than enough for me. And today, I saw more than one who could accomplish such a feat."

Walking to Uthgerd, she announced, "I saw this woman jump on that dragon like Lyrisius reborn, and put the lives of her teammates before her own. For the rest of your lives, when you tell this tale, add the usual assortment of lies, but never change the part where Uthgerd crippled that beast and made it yelp like a dog with its tail in a trap." The guards laughed as Irileth gripped Uthgerd's shoulder and continued, "The Companions are sure to look like fools when the history books say they turned her away. Let's hear it for Uthgerd; Uthgerd… the Unbroken!"

Uthgerd was clearly touched by the applause that followed, and finally shouted, "Oh, stop it, you drunks!"

As the guards laughed and joked, Chet shook his head. "You wouldn't understand, Housecarl," he replied, not entirely without respect. "You ain't a Nord."

"I've been all across Tamriel," Irileth retorted sternly. "I've seen plenty of things just as outlandish as this. I'd advise you all to trust in the strength of your sword arm over tales and legends."

The guard muttered amongst themselves, but Hrolgeir took a step closer to the Nord, who had finished filling his bag with bones and scales. "If you really are Dragonborn," he announced, "Like out of the old tales, you ought to be able to Shout. Can you? Have you tried?"

Seeing the guard wouldn't be put off, the weary Nord slowly stepped up on top of the stone debris and faced away the guards as he took a few deep breaths. Not quite sure what to do, he centered his thoughts on the dragons - the way they had flown through the air, the ferocity of their attacks, their language … and when he thought of the language, there was a tickling in the back of his head, and those etchings in Bleak Falls stuck out to him again.

Irileth watched him crouch slightly, much like a troll about to attack. For the Nord, everything seemed to go dark again, and the world stood still as he breathed in. Finally, the moment shattered as he erupted, his jaw snapping open with crushing force, unable to contain the obscene roar which poured from his throat.

FUS!

The air itself seemed to split for the Nord, as the droplets of rain caught in his path illustrated. The muddy ground in front of him flattened like an invisible boulder launched from a catapult had landed in front him. And the sound - as loud as it was, the warriors could not know how many realms of creation felt the onslaught. The ground continued to crumple and the rain was blasted away as the effect shot forward with impossible speed, smashing into the base of the tower. The guards yelled and scrambled away as the ancient Western Watchtower of Whiterun creaked, bent, and finally collapsed with a resounding crash.

Fortunately, the tower fell away from the guards, who slowly stood back up, adrenaline once again pumping through their veins. Hrolgeir broke the ensuing silence by confirming what they all knew. "That was Shouting, what you just did!" he exclaimed, palpable awe in his voice. "Must be. You really are Dragonborn, then… I'm glad you're on our side." The nervous guards tittered at his understatement.

Irileth was worn out. This had all been too much to process, and she knew their job was not done. "All right, enough talk," she yelled. "Patch each other up and salvage equipment. I want every arrow accounted for." As the guard reluctantly dispersed, she turned back to this living, shouting fairy tale. "I hope you understand that-"

"I do; it's fine," the Nord cut her off a little irritably. He seemed to look through her, lost in other thoughts. For once, she thought, he seemed to be behaving… human.

"Well … that was the hairiest fight I've ever been in, and I've been in more than a few," Irileth said ruefully. "I don't know about this Dragonborn business, but I'm sure glad you're with us." Looking around, she continued, "I'm taking command here for the moment. You better get back to Whiterun right away. Jarl Balgruuf will want to know what happened here."

The Nord sighed and looked down, rubbing his eyes, but nodded in affirmation of his latest chore. He began walking slowly along the road back to Whiterun, and Uthgerd fell in step beside him.

"So...," she said, "You can control that thing, right? You're not gonna cough and kill the Jarl, are you?"

"I don't know. How should I know? I don't even know my damn name," came the frustrated response. "Why don't you talk to the Jarl."

"Oh, what? No, I couldn't possibly…" Uthgerd laughed. As they walked on, the rain slowed to a light drizzle, and sunlight broke through some of the clouds and cascaded across the tundra, passing over the mesa of the city ahead in a moment of brilliant beauty.

"You too shy to talk to a jarl?" the Nord joked, unable to stay sullen in the soothing glow of the landscape.

"Oh, shut it, madman; I see how tired you are," Uthgerd laughed, punching him in the shoulder. "I could send you into the ditch right now and blame it on the dragon. And I don’t suppose you'll want me telling the Jarl about how you knocked down his tower."

They were passing a farmhouse by the road, and she saw faces in the window. "Don't worry! Dragon's dead! We killed it!" she called, pointing back and forth between them as the Nord smiled. "I'm Uthgerd the Unbroken, and this crazy bastard is the gods-damned Dragonborn!"

The two Nords continued laughing a while as they strolled, drunk on their own success. Uthgerd commented, "Well, I guess you don't really need a name now."

"Eh… 'Dragonborn' doesn’t really roll off the tongue," the Nord replied.

"Sorry if you didn't like it, but that was easily the best naming ceremony ever."

His brow furrowed. "Naming ceremony?"

"Come on, you must- nevermind," Uthgerd waved her hand dismissively. "I don't think Irileth really knew what she was doing, either. You see, Nords are only given one name at birth. Been that way longer than anyone knows; since before we came over from Atmora. A surname is given in a special ceremony, usually when a child is young, but I - well, a lot of people never have naming ceremonies, and some just don't like what the priestesses tell them. Anyways, a ceremony is usually much more formal, but … 'Uthgerd the Unbroken.' What do you think?"

"It suits you perfectly," the Nord smiled. "So … how do Nords keep track of each other? You know, so they don't end up marrying their cousins."

"They?" Uthgerd queried, giving the Nord an odd look.

"We."

"Hold records," Uthgerd responded. "It works really well, actually. Each capital has scribes recording names and family lines. One of them told me all about it once at the Mare; called it the mark of civilization. Loads of stuff goes into all, even some magic, but, point is, anyone who comes to a hold gives their name and sometimes relatives' names, and that gets recorded and cross-checked. Anyone who doesn't get their name registered is assumed to be an avowed criminal. It's like that old Marukh saying, 'All are guilty until they have proven themselves innocent.' A name is the first proof of your innocence. That's why it's so important for you to have one."

"Oh … that explains a lot, actually," the Nord said thoughtfully. The pair finally approached the bottom of the steep hill leading up to the main gate of Whiterun. It gave the city an enormous defensive edge, but it was often speculated that the reason the region could support so many small villages was because road-weary travellers were willing to go a little out of their way to avoid making the trek up to inns of Whiterun. The Nord stopped and groaned at the incline. "Just kill me now."

Uthgerd's laugh was cut short by the loudest crack of thunder she'd ever heard. She instinctively ducked a little, glancing around at the now-sunny sky in alarm as the ground shook beneath her.

DOV-AH-KIIN!

Each syllable fell like a hammer, and Uthgerd covered her ears as the cry echoed throughout the valley and beyond. As the sound dissipated, they could hear cries of alarm from the city far above.

The pair looked up at the mountain, where it seemed the noise had come from. Uthgerd looked back at the Nord, not knowing what to say. He didn't seem to know, either, and he simply turned and started walking up the hill.

As Uthgerd caught up to him, he began muttering. "Dov-ah-kiin, Dovahkiin, Dovahkiin… it's got a certain ring to it…"

hat else could it mean?" Jarl Balgruuf asked his steward, Proventus Avenicci. The two were still discussing the earth-shaking roar that had passed through his city. "The Greybeards … "

Proventus saw two Nords enter and recognized one of them as nameless madman his liege had decided to trust. He rushed forward to meet them. "Good. You're finally here," he said, his voicing trailing off as he got a good look at them. Both were caked in blood splatters and dried mud, and the man looked ready to fall over. "Well …. The Jarl's been waiting for you."

Balgruuf leaned forward in his throne as Proventus ushered them forward. "So what happened at the watchtower? Was the dragon there?"

The Nord looked at the woman, who merely gestured at the Jarl. Clearing his throat, the Nord finally said, "We killed a dragon."

The crowded hall erupted in cheers. In some cases, money surreptitiously changed hands. "I knew I could count on Irileth!" Balgruuf exclaimed, pounding his fist on his armrest. Leaning back, he added, "But there must be more to it than that."

"The watchtower was destroyed, at least four guards are dead," the Nord replied, quickly adding, "But the losses could have been far greater." Motioning at Uthgerd, he made sure his voice would carry through the hall. "Irileth wants it known that Uthgerd the Unbroken showed exceptional skill and bravery in the battle. After saving a young man's life, Uthgerd the Unbroken jumped onto the dragon's back and delivered a mortal wound, driving her sword into it all the way to the hilt." Uthgerd kept her head bowed as he talked and through the subsequent applause, a hint of a blush on her face.

"Well done, Uthgerd the Unbroken," Balgruuf said respectfully. Uthgerd bowed low, feeling a little dizzy after hearing the Jarl speak her new name, but she didn't show it. The Nord next to her, on the other hand, had started swaying back and forth a little. His lids had started to droop over his green eyes, which had taken on a shade of redness with his sleep deprivation.

Balgruuf couldn't help but notice, and announced, "Thank you for bringing me this news, friends of Whiterun." Interlocking his fingers, he continued, "Arrange a time with Proventus so that we may show our gratitude properly and reward you for your heroic efforts. For now, the threat has passed. Please, take your well-earned rest."

The Nord sluggishly shook his head, then lowered it to rub his eyes. "No. The threat is still here."

Balgruuf's smile vanished. "Explain."

The Nord raised his head, and with a trace of frustration replied, "For one, I'm the afraid the yelling of the Jarl's mountain will not allow for sleep."

Uthgerd found her voice in the stifled laughter that followed. "Allow me, my Jarl. My friend has been without sleep. The dragon which attacked your watchtower was not the one which destroyed Helgen." Raising her voice over the murmurs, she finished, "It appears that dragons are returning to Skyrim."

"Do you know what you are saying?" Balgruuf asked slowly as the hall reacted.

"Yes, my Jarl, and I'm sorry to have to bring you this news. Though we have only the word of…" Uthgerd started, gesturing and glancing at her friend. She stumbled, both because she searched for a name for a moment which wasn't there, and because the Nord's eyes had closed. "The word of my friend here, I believe it to be the truth. The creature which attacked your watchtower was powerful, but Helgen was a large settlement. They had guards as well as a Legion garrison at the ready, but the whole town was destroyed. I do not think so highly of myself to believe that I succeeded where they all failed. The dragon that destroyed Helgen was more powerful than the dragon which killed your guards."

The Jarl stood up and approached Uthgerd, who, somehow, managed to stand a little straighter. "May I see your weapon, Uthgerd the Unbroken?"

In half a heart-beat, Uthgerd dropped to one knee as she drew her sword, holding it up for the Jarl in the ancient Nordic custom. She stood again as he took the blade, running his hand along its flat surface. "A fine weapon. And it was a fine watchtower that it avenged. Do you have a history with it?"

"Nothing of note until today, my Jarl. It is the work of your steward's daughter, and has served me well for over a year."

Balgruuf nodded as he listened, studying the blade. Then he pointed it at the dragon skull hanging over his throne. "The Western Watchtower of Whiterun has protected my city since the days when that beast threatened it, thousands of years ago." Turning back to Uthgerd, he announced, "It will be rebuilt, bigger and better than it was before. But that will not replace what has been lost, neither the history nor the lives. With your permission, I would like to keep this sword, and save it to commemorate today's victory."

"It would be my honor, sir," she replied proudly. Removing her scabbard from her waist, she again knelt and offered it to Balgruuf, who gingerly sheathed the weapon and handed it off to Proventus.

"Speak to Eorlund Gray-Mane. I will commission him to craft a sword of the highest quality especially for you." Returning to his throne, he added, "So, there may be more dragon attacks ahead of us. But we may take heart in that you have shown us we can protect ourselves as well as the Nords of old."

"My Jarl, we have more reason to take heart," Uthgerd responded with a smile, looking at the Nord next to her.

The Nord just stared back at her blankly. "Hm? Uh, well, your housecarl Irileth has seen what these dragons can do now. I'm sure your guards can protect Whiterun from more dragons like that which plagued it today."

"That's not what I meant…" Uthgerd said. She caught the Nord's eye, and they engaged in some wordless debate for a few moments as the Jarl watched them, frowning. Finally, Uthgerd seemed to win.

"Oh- oh!" the Nord realized. Looking back at Balgruuf, he continued, "I was going to tell your steward, but it seems I have a name for you to enter in your hold records."

"Which is?" the Jarl responded bemusedly.

"Dragonborn."

"Dragonborn?" the Jarl replied as the whispers in the hall picked up. "What do you know about the Dragonborn?" he asked carefully.

The Nord shrugged. "I found a book about it, but I haven't read it yet. It's just what the men called me. Do you not like it? The mountain suggested 'Dovahkiin', I think I like that more..."

"Why did the men call you Dragonborn?" Balgruuf asked forcefully.

"… Uh, after I finished off the dragon, it started … dissipating. Like a big piece of burning parchment. All this white light came out of the dragon and passed through my chest. That was … that was really pleasant, actually. The guards started talking about their grandfathers' stories and asked me to shout, so I shouted. Then they started calling me Dragonborn."

The hall, for once, was completely silent except for the crackling of the fires. "Not just the men," Balgruuf said solemnly, regarding the Nord with a renewed intensity. "The Greybeards seem to think the same thing."

"The Greybeards?" the Nord asked, furrowing his brow. The silence broke with the question as the assembled whispered to each other, incredulous.

"Masters of the Way of the Voice," Balgruuf said patiently. "They live in seclusion high on the slopes of the Throat of the World."

The Nord's brow remained furrowed. "What do these Greybeards want with me?"

"The Dragonborn is said to be uniquely gifted in the Voice - the ability to focus your vital essence into a thu'um, or Shout," Balgruuf explained. "If you really are Dragonborn, they can teach you how to use your gift."

The Jarl's brother, Hrongar, stepped forward. "Didn't you hear the thundering sound as you returned to Whiterun?" he said to the Nord. "That was the voice of the Greybeards, summoning you to High Hrothgar! This hasn't happened in … centuries, at least! Not since Tiber Septim himself was summoned when he was still Talos of Atmora!"

"Knew that guy would be important," the Nord muttered.

On the other side of the Jarl, Proventus stepped forward. "Hrongar, calm yourself. What does any of this Nord nonsense have to do with our friend here? Capable as he may be, I don't see any signs of him being this, what, 'Dragonborn.'"

"Nord nonsense?!" Hrongar exclaimed before Proventus could finish. "Why you puffed-up ignorant… These are our sacred traditions that go back to the founding of the First Empire!"

Balgruuf raised a hand. The gravity of this meeting was sinking in for him, and he didn't want it to be remembered for his councilors' sniping. "Hrongar. Don't be so hard on Avenicci."

"I meant no disrespect, of course," Proventus said respectfully. "It's just that … how do we know any of this is true?"

"What do you want me to do, knock down another watchtower?" the Nord remarked. He didn't see the Jarl's look of surprise, as he was too busy surveying the crowded hall. Spotting his target, he waved and called out, "Farengar! Hey, Farengar!"

The crowded parted, albeit with a murmur, allowing the dark-robed wizard to the front. "That word wall from Bleak Falls Barrow," the Nord continued. "Have you finished translating it?"

"Yes, it says-"

"Allow me," the Nord interrupted, raising his hand. "'Here lies the guardian, Keeper of dragonstone, and a force of unending rage and darkness.'"

Farengar eyebrows rose. "Yes, that's it, exactly. How did-"

"And the Dragonstone, have you translated that?"

"Partially…"

"Allow me to finish it for you. 'HET NOK UN MAHLaaN DROGGE ERei SULeyK SE ALDUIN VOKRii,'" the Nord recited, yawning as he said the words. Some people in the hall shuffled around nervously as he recited the arcane, magical words of the dragon tongue. "Which means, 'Here lie our Fallen lords the roaring power of Alduin revives.' Does that sound about right to you?"

The astounded wizard just gaped at the Nord, his eyes wide. Finally, he looked to Balgruuf and nodded.

"So," the Nord said, pivoting sharply on his heel to face Proventus, "While the general consensus seems to be that I'm quite mad, I am a madman who has just absorbed knowledge that could only come from a dragon. Unless you'd like me strike the court deaf, perhaps you'll just have to take my word for it."

Some in the crowd tittered, but Proventus was unfazed the Nord's behavior. "My Jarl, I do believe this man has been touched by Sheogorath, but he could be an asset we do not want to trade away. What do these Greybeards want with him?"

Balgruuf gave his steward a cold look at the implication the Nord was a commodity. "That's the Greybeards' business, not ours." He waved the steward off and focused on the Nord. "Whatever happened when you killed that dragon, it revealed something in you, and the Greybeards heard it. If they think you're Dragonborn, who are we to argue?" The crowd, which had grown in size over the course of the discussion, gave shouts of support.

"You'd better get up to High Hrothgar immediately," Balgruuf continued. "There's no refusing the summons of the Greybeards; it's a tremendous honor. I envy you, you know. To climb the 7,000 Steps again … I made the pilgrimage once, did you know that?"

"I know very little," the Nord answered simply. "7,000 steps, you say?"

"High Hrothgar is a very peaceful place. Very … disconnected from the troubles of this world. I wonder that the Greybeards even notice what's going on down here. They haven't seemed to care before. No matter. Go to High Hrothgar. Learn what the Greybeards can teach you."

"… As you wish, my Jarl. I cannot know where my path leads, but I promise you it will pass through High Hrothgar."

Balgruuf nodded his thanks. "You've done a great service for me and my city once again, Dragonborn," he announced, standing. "By my right as Jarl, I name you Thane of Whiterun. It's the greatest honor that's within my power to grant." As he spoke, the Jarl reached behind his throne, and removed an axe which had been mounted there. "I assign you Lydia as your personal housecarl, and this weapon, the Axe of Whiterun, to serve as your badge of office." The Nord accepted the axe in the same way he had seen Uthgerd trade hers to the ruler, though he couldn't keep a grin off his face as he admired the weapon. The metal haft melded seamlessly with the jewel-encrusted axe head, which had a sharp spike on the off-side. It was small compared to most Nordic battleaxes, being a single-handed weapon, but its light weight and razor-sharp blades more than compensated.

"I'll also notify my guards of your new title," Balgruuf continued. "Wouldn't want them to think you're part of the common rabble, now would we?" he added, returning to his throne. "We are honored to have you as Thane of our city, Dragonborn."

"Thank you, my Jarl," replied the Dragonborn.

The Tale continues in Proving Honor.