(This actually did happen; coming out of the lair with Vilkas, I took a few steps out and then suddenly a dragon came out of the sky over our heads. It was so quick I didn't screenshot it, but it made a nice little tidbit to add to the story).
Although I could hear the ring of steel behind me as Vilkas drew his sword, I concentrated instead on the dragon overhead. I could make out green scales – blood dragon, then. Not too terrible, but still a -dragon- and therefore not good either. There was no time to draw my bow in any event, so it was going to be down to swords and Shouts. A small part of me wished feverently that it was just me and the dragon, no witnesses, no worries, but there was nothing to be done. No time. I would have to play the part, I would have to speak the Thu’um, I would have to be Dragonborn, or die. That was just the way.
The dragon hovered overhead, drawing its head back as it prepared to launch a volley. I could hear the deep hiss of its breath as it gathered itself to breathe out a gust of ice – I could see even from this distance the frost gathering on its fangs and I raised my lefthand, calling the spell of warding up and bracing my feet. The frozen breath belched down upon us and covered my leathers in rime. I could hear Vilkus cursing behind me as he fumbled for his longbow, but the sinew of his bowstring snapped in the cold. I couldn’t think of him now in any event as the dragon wheeled up into the sky and for another pass.
“We need to get back and warn Whiterun,” Vilkas said tersely behind me, but I kept my eye on the dragon, gathering myself for its next attack.
“I can handle this, Vilkas.”
“What?! It’s a dragon! We need the whole of Jorrvaskr for this brute!”
“I know it’s a dragon; I am Dragonborn, now be quiet!”
That stopped him talking at least as the dragon turned upon the wing and bank again. I couldn’t get it out of the sky, but I could maybe stagger it somehow as it came down for another pass. I’d need to Shout. I just hoped Vilkas wouldn’t get in the way.
“Remember, stay behind me!” I shot back over my shoulder as the dragon came in now, swooping down on its massive wings, teeth gleaming as it opened its jaws. I could see the first hints of flame in its gullet, and I gathered my strength, and feel the Thu’um beginto fill me. Vilkas at my back spurred the Shout within me, and I did not go for subtlety.
“Krii Lun!”
The blood dragon wavered in the air as my Shout thundered out into the night, the glare in its reptilian eyes flinched as it floundered in its glide. I had weakened it as the force of my Shout shook it to the core. The flame died in its throat as it tried to sail over our heads to attempt to flap out of Shout range and recover its strength. I’d hurt it – I was still new enough to being Dragonborn to marvel that I could hurt a dragon merely by yelling at it, but the power I felt from the use of the Thu’um was there in my voice, in my being, and in the way the dragon struggled to claw back up into the sky.
It managed to stay in the air, but only just. I was able to raise my blade as it sailed overhead and catch it on the underbelly, but only enough for a fleshwound, though deep. Its scales parted like butter; the first word weakening the dragon’s scale armour, and the second word its very life essence. With a roar of pain and anger, the dragon fumbled and then came down into a earth-plowing skid of stones and brush, one wing crumpled and useless at its side.
Vilkas was drawing up his blade again but I was already on the move, charging forward and ducking underneath the dragon’s jaws as it snapped at me to score it another hit on the side of its throat. I ducked and rolled away, but it whipped its unbroken wing out at me and caught me in the side, lifting me off my feet and sending me sprawling. I came down with a grunt, gasping for air as Vilkas charged forward to gash the dragon’s side before I could stop him. Brave, foolish Vilkas. The dragon screamed in fury – thankfully not a Shout – and whipped its tail round to smack Vilkas down to the floor with a bone-rattling crunch. I braced myself into a crouch, gathering my breath as the dragon raised its claws to tear into Vilkas’ back, armour or not.
“Fus Ro!”
Hitting the dragon with the Thu’um was my aim, but if it caught and flung Vilkas away as well, I’d take that too. The cursed beast rocked back on its haunches, its head slapping sideways against the ground with the force of my Shout, dazing it. I was on my feet now and running, timing my leap just as the dragon brought its head back up. I gripped its bony ruff behind its head with one hand, and brought my blade point first down with the other.
It was not a clean kill, but dragon-slaying never is. It flailed and twitched as I brought my sword right down into its skull, gripping its neck with my legs as if riding a crazed horse. Finally, it arched its back, wheezed out a ragged breath, and pitched forward, lifeless. I drew out my blade with difficulty and stumbled back down upon the ground as the flames began to lick over the scales of the beast. I could hear them clinking like cooling cinders as the scales curled up and began to fall away, and I turned to face the dead beast as the wind began to pick up, the lights swirling as the dragon’s soul howled and tore at the brush and stones around us, then rushed into me like the winds of a winter storm. I braced myself, teeth gritted, and closed my eyes. As ever, for a moment, I was a dragon – I knew its name, I saw its life from ages past, I heard its voice; countless memories over ages of time I couldn’t even being to fathom, and then, it was gone, locked away inside of myself until I needed it. Once again, I felt less like a slayer, and more like a vessel, and I despaired.
But it was done now..there was nothing but a dragon’s skeleton before me, and some cooling scales tinkling beneath the evening sky.
And Vilkas. I had forgotten Vilkas.
“By all the gods…it’s you. You’re the Dragonborn all of Whiterun has been talking about.” His voice made me cringe; the awe, the disbelief, and the hint of fear that I heard in everyone’s voice these days when the whole Dragonborn legend spread – it sounded even worse when he said it. He groaned and staggered to his feet, bruised but alive. Alive and marvelling.
“Aye.” I couldn’t bring myself to meet his gaze.
“Ah! I’m a fool! They said it was a Bosmer, and I wondered if it was you – what other female Bosmer is in Skyrim?” Vilkas thumped his fist against his thigh, cursing, then sighing as he regarded me silently beside the dragon’s skeleton. Now it was my turn to be aloof and wrap myself in silence, hiding my thoughts. What could I say that wouldn’t sound ridiculous even in my own ears?
I strode forward, frowning at the dents in his armour. Well at least I had nothing to hide now. Gently, I pressed my fingers to his side as I called up a healing touch to mend his wounds best I could. He jumped at the touch, then swayed slightly as the healing energy flowed through him. We steadied each other, shoulder to shoulder, though I still didn’t look up at him. ”We need to see that properly tended,” I mumbled as I turned away. “Like you said, we need to get back.” I kicked at a few of the dragon’s scales, and didn’t wait for a reply. I didn’t get one anyway. We walked in silence; the hunt was over, the battle done, and we were strangers again.
Well, I thought, so that’s it then. What else could I have expected? I was a Bosmer, he was a Nord. It hurt more than I cared to admit, a cruel pain.
By the time we reached Whiterun, the halls were cleared of blood and bodies, and all the Companions were at the Forge. We had enough time to clean the blood from our gear, and to deliver the pieces of the shard to Eorlund for safekeeping before making our way to the Skyforge itself. I felt only marginally better for my vengeance-hunt – mostly, I felt empty. The damned witch’s head was still on the floor – whoever had opened it probably had been given a nasty turn – but I let it lie and made my silent way to the funeral for Kodlak.
Vilkas was studying me out of the corner of his eye, but I still didn’t look at him. I couldn’t bear that look of awe and fear I knew he would be wearing – everyone who knew who or what I was wore that look, the look of hope and of walking with a hero. As if I was a hero! But there was no time for that; the dirge was beginning.
“Before the ancient flame…”
“We grieve,” all the Companions murmured.
I did not know the responses – strangely, I felt more out of place than I had ever been. Companion, yes, but not a Nord…what was I now, really? I clenched my fists at my sides and stared down at the ground of the forge, mumbling the replies. I didn’t know what to say, but I did feel the words. I did grieve. I did weep. Kodlak was a good man, and though I had not known him long, I missed him. Farkas stood beside me, and furtively I reached out and took his trembling hand, comforting him and myself best I was able. Aela strode forward with a torch and set the pyre alight. We watched the flames burn, but the smell of the old man flesh cooking in the flames did not bring me comfort. Aela watched the fire burn with her face a mask, and Vilkas stood with his head bowed and his eyes closed. Eventually only we of the inner Circle were left…and there were only four of us now.
“Now who will guide us?” Falkas murmured. No one spoke.
“Dreema.” Eorlund strode forward, his face more solemn than taciturn. I strode over to one side with him as he continued. ”I’ve a favour to ask of you, Companion.”
“Whatever you wish me to do, it would be an honour,” I replied, somewhat stiffly – again, I didn’t understand the customs of mourning. Was I to be formal? The smith grunted, a flare of his usual nature rising to the fore. “Save that flowery talk. I need something; a last fragment of Wuuthrad is in Kodlak’s quarters. He always kept it upon him and I don’t feel right getting it. You have more right to do so than I do, so if you would, bring it to me.”
I eyed Eorlund with a small frown. What did that mean, exactly? Sometimes Eorlund spoke as a smith, sometimes as an elder, and sometimes it seemed he knew a whole lot more than he ever admitted. I was never certain how to take him, but I shrugged. I didn’t really want to go into Kodlak’s rooms, but I felt I had to.
Down I went. I steeled myself before I opened the door to the Harbinger’s quarters. Tilma had made up the bed and tidied the room, true to her calling and it only fitting, even though Kodlak’s final pillow was at the forge now. I sighed as I gazed at the empty bed, then rummaged through the cupboards and the table at bedside. I found the shard resting upon a journal which was written in Kodlak’s careful, spidery script. Being the damned curious soul I am, I checked the door, then thumbed through the pages.
In my dream, I see the line of Harbingers start with Ysgramor. Each of them ascends to Sovngarde, until we come to Terrfyg, who first turned us to the ways of the beast. He tries to enter Sovngarde, but before he can even approach Tsun, he is set upon by a great wolf, who pulls him into the Hunting Grounds, where Hircine laughs with welcoming arms. Terrfyg seems regretful, but also eager to join Hircine after a lifetime of service as a beast. Then I see every next Harbinger turn away from Sovngarde and enter the Hunting Grounds of their own accord. Until it comes to me, and I see great Tsun on the misty horizon, beckoning me. It appears I have a choice. And then, at my side, a stranger I had not seen before. As I look into her eyes, we turn to see the same wolf who dragged away Terrfyg, and she and I draw weapons together…
Startled, I read page after page with a sense of growing alarm and realisation. Here it was; the division within the Circle, the choice Vilkas, Kodlak and Farkas had made to keep the beast at bay – and how Vilkas struggled with it. The strange conversation – which I had initially taken as Vilkas’ dislike for me when I first came to the Companions – now made more sense. And Kodlak’s words for me – “valor, honour” – brought fresh tears to my eyes, but the final pages made me stare in disbelief; he had decided to make me the Harbinger, and tutor me to lead the Companions. Me, a Bosmer? But so was his reasoning…Aela was headstrong and aloof, Vilkas was intelligent but his anger earlier had been proof enough he could not guide with a level head, and Falkas for all his simple nature couldn’t reinforce a duty. Who else was left now that Skjor was gone, although his impulsiveness had managed to get him killed?
I stared at the journal’s final page – at the wish that once a cure was found, Kodlak would take me under his wing and counsel me to be Harbinger. It was a wish that could not be fulfilled now as the old man was gone, but still, his wish. And here I stood, with a piece of Wuuthrad in my hands and the choice to close the book and just shove the title of Harbinger on someone else…or to accept it. To embrace it, the wyrd, the responsibility, everything.
I closed my eyes, feeling the journal tremble in my hands, but I willed them steady. I struggled with myself – as I had been doing ever since I had learned who and what I was to be – and something somewhere inside me, a dragon’s soul, or perhaps my own murmured soft as a whisper: stop running.
I opened my eyes again, and pressed the journal to my chest, steeling myself, then placed it back in the drawer. My mind was made up. Enough running. Enough knotting the thread of my wyrd. If I had to cut the damn thing to get all the kinks out then I would do it, but enough was enough. The ability to Shout wasn’t going to go away just because I didn’t want it. Kodlak wasn’t going to come back just because I didn’t want to be a Harbinger. And Vilkas, brave, handsome, fiery Vilkas, wasn’t going to change because I wanted him to see something other than a foreigner when he looked at me. It hurt…it all hurt, but it was just wyrd. I had best accept it. It was duty and responsibility – when people relied upon me, I would do what needed to be done.
And I would die before I let the world burn.
I came back to the Skyforge, where the pyre was now smouldering into coals and ashes; Kodlak’s ashes were now just coke for the forge itself. He’d be in every blade and shield of Skyforge steel henceforce, just as ever Companion and Harbinger before him. When Eorlund took the piece of cold metal from my hand, he met my gaze. And I saw he had known exactly what was written in the journal – he had sent me to read it, and to make my choice.
“Thank you,” I murmured. He grunted, but there was the hint of a smile on the corners of his lips.
“The others are in the Underforge. They are waiting for you. I’ll be down soon, but I cannot hurry this one piece, my greatest work.”
I nodded even though I didn’t understand him. I had other things to worry about now. And so I lifted my chin and prepared myself for the coming storm – come what may, Harbinger or Dragonborn, I was ready for it, finally.
Let it come.
