“No Stross, everything is not okay!” Fenora yelled at the top of her lungs, rounding on him.
Ever since they got back to Whiterun, things had gone to Tartarus one step at a time.
===000===(Flashback time) *Whoosh!*===000===
The sun was hanging low over the horizon, bathing the landscape in a dull orange glow. Fenora and Stross were exhausted from all the walking around and dungeon delving, but the changeling kept an upbeat attitude for the both of them. He loved the new cloak that Fenora had gotten for him, something he’d be sure to use all the time lest they have a repeat of Riverwood.
As they approached the city gates though, they noticed a number of people milling about outside. There were only about a dozen or so, but these weren’t guards or townspeople; they were injured travelers and even soldiers, each of them covered in a myriad of burns.
It was up at Dragonsreach that Fenora and Stross learned those people were survivors from Helgen, and all of them were claiming it was burned down by a dragon, just as our heroes had explained that morning. With the news of dragons spreading, and his people calling for action, Jarl Balgruuf was unable to deny the truth of it any longer. He had already sent his guards out to patrol the borders of Whiterun hold, and to the smaller towns in case of an attack. Though this essentially meant that Fenora and Stross had wasted their time retrieving the dragonstone. Something that Fenora was none too happy about.
But before she could voice her displeasure (by letting her fists do the talking), there was more bad news to be had.
“Everyone, come quickly. There’s been an urgent development.” Irileth beckoned to them from a set of stairs. “You two come as well, we’ll need your help.”
Jarl Balgruuf and Proventus followed her up, and seeing as how they had little choice in the matter, Fenora and Stross went as well. They all gathered in the war room, where an injured guard was barely able to stand at attention.
“We’ve just got news that the dragon was spotted near the western watchtower.” Irileth told them and addressed the guard. “Go ahead, just tell them what you told me.” she said with a slight tenderness that seemed unlike her until then.
“We saw it coming from the south. It was fast-... faster than anything I’d ever seen in my life. One second it was just circling overhead, and then-” the man suddenly broke into a coughing fit. “Fire! It turned the whole tower into a damned chimney. Everything was on fire… so I ran.” A bit of shame washed over his features. “I ran so fast and I still thought I was done for. I have no idea why it didn’t come after me.”
Balgruuf scowled and leaned on the table. “It let you escape to send us a message.” He muttered, “Well if it thinks it can scare us, it won't work! I won’t just stand by while this menace burns my hold and slaughters my people.” Balgruuf pounded his fist on the table again for emphasis “Irileth, prepare a squad, have them ready for battle!
“And you.” he turned to the guard who was clearly on his last legs, “You’ve done well to bring us this news. Get to the barracks for some food and rest. You’ve earned it.”
“Now… you two,” he turned to Stross and Fenora, his features relaxing slightly. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you before, but we need your help more than ever now. I know it’s a lot to ask of anyone, but you were at Helgen, so you have the most experience dealing with dragons. I want you to accompany Irileth and her men and help them fight this dragon. Kill it before it reaches the city if you can. Understand that you’d be doing us a great service, and we’d be forever grateful for your help.”
Stross found himself in a state of mild shock. He wasn’t sure if such a thing was common in the world he found himself in now, but on Equus the term ‘Dragon Hunter’ was synonymous with ‘suicidal idiot’. Still, unending gratitude sounded pretty tasty.
He was going to ask Fenora about it, but when he looked at her, he was even more conscerned to see the manic grin stretching across her face. And then the bosmer laughed. This laugh wasn’t lighthearted or even sarcastic. It started as a small, nearly inaudible chuckle, but built quickly until it echoed through the wooden halls of the palace.
With every eye on her, Proventus backing up fearfully and Irileth nearly drawing her sword, Fenora’s laughter finally petered out, and her manic smile settled into a smirk.
“Nope.” She said simple before preforming an about-face and walking out on them.
Everyone else just stood there dumbfounded.
“I- uh… hold on a sec- I just.” Stross sputtered, “You guys do your thing, I’ll be back in a minute- Fen! Wait up!”
And with that he chased after the disappearing flap of her coat as she strode out the front doors of Dragonsreach.
===000===(End Flashback)===
“Okay… granted… maybe fighting a dragon is asking a little too much from us.” Stross admitted while he twiddled his thumbs. “But we have to- I mean… we could try and help them. I mean you saw what that one did at Helgen. They’re all going to die if we don’t.”
Fenora gave him a deadpan stare as they stood on the stone steps leading up to the palace. Or in her case, away.
“Stross, you’ve guilted me into helping them one time, but even I have limits. We haven’t done nothing. We got this stupid dragonstone for Farengar, and it turns out we didn’t even need to." Fenora said and held up the dragonstone before dropping it on the ground at her feet. “We tried to help them already. Now it's time for them to help themselves, because I’m done. This is where I draw the line, alright? Fighting dragons is where I draw the line!”
She turned to leave, but Stross dashed over and grabbed her wrist. “You can’t go!”
“Why not?!” she snapped and pulled free.
“Because I don’t want you to!” Stross cried, “Don’t you get it? I’m all alone without you! Equestria is gone, and Skyrim is… Skyrim is cold. I know you want to leave, because you have a home to go back to. But I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to go back to mine. Right now this is all I have.” his eyes looked into hers from under his hood, “You’re all I have. Please don’t leave me. Stay with me?”
“Stross,” Fenora moved closer and put a soft hand on his shoulder. “You could come with me. We’d go together and live on my farm in High Rock.”
Stross closed his eyes. He wanted to. It sounded nice, like something he could be comfortable and content with for a really long time. He really wanted to.
He sniffed back a few tears and pulled Fenora into a hug. “I’m sorry. But I just can’t.”
The words of the mysterious armored man, and the legend of Alduin rang in his mind.
“The dragons aren’t just coming back. They’re coming back… to life.”
“Alduin, bane of kings, ancient shadow unbound with a hunger to swallow the world.”
Stross could be sure that Skyrim would burn under the dragon’s assault, and it wouldn’t stop there. He could run away from it with Fenora and live a peaceful life… but how long would that last? One little changeling might not be able to do much against an army of dragons. But if he could provide even that last little push that held them back just a little longer- long enough for someone to do something…
“I have to try.”
Fenora let out a sigh. “Then you’ll have to try without me. Goodbye Stross. Warm sands.”
She pulled away from him gently, but Stross felt something inside him cry out in pain as she slipped out of his arms. She gave one last parting glance behind her before turning away for good.
Her shouting had drawn a lot of attention, Stross noticed, and a crowd of townspeople had gathered to watch the exchange. Fenora shouted for them to move out of her way, then gripped the hilt of her sword so they’d comply. Stross watched as she left, one of a dozen sets of eyes looking on as the bosmer abandoned them.
With a heavy metaphorical heart, Stross turned around and headed back to Dragonsreach. If Fenora wouldn’t be the hero these people needed, then he would.
“Alright, got all my panicking and crazy out. I’m ready to move when you are.” ‘Fenora’ announced as she came back to the war room. Stross believed that if he was going to charge into a fight, then the form of a beautiful elf warrior was better than his changeling body in the ‘not taking friendly fire’ category.
“Glad to hear it, we’ll need all the help we can get if we’re going to bring that monster down.” Irileth told her while she, Balgruuf, Farengar, and a woman in leather armor and a cowl debated over tactics.
“Remember Irileth, this isn’t a death or glory mission.” Balgruuf warned her like it was a bad habit of hers. “Drive it off if you can, but live to tell us about it. We need to know what we’re facing in case more show up.”
“Jarl Balgruuf, if I may be so bold,” Farengar put his hand on the table, unable to stay quiet any longer, “I must insist that I go with them as well; I value the chance to see an actual dragon, and will be able to learn much about their behavior from an actual encounter with one.”
“No,” Balgruuf told him, “I can’t afford to lose you out there; I need you to continue your research so we’ll know how to defend ourselves. I’m sure that if the situation warrants, we’ll be able to provide you with enough materials for your research. In the meantime, we have to learn how to defend ourselves against these *sigh* dragon attacks.”
“Face it Farengar, that dragon would rip you apart if it got its claws on you.” Irileth told him before he could retort, “And don’t worry, I’ll be back to tell you all about it once I have that dragon stuffed and mounted on a wall.”
Farengar sighed in defeat. “Well, I guess it’s back to the books. I envy your chance to see an actual dragon.” he told Fen-Stross.
“Well if it’s any consolation, I do have the dragonstone from Bleak Falls if you still want it.” Fen-Stross offered.
The woman in leather armor, who had previously stayed a silent observer was suddenly right on top of her, snatching the dragonstone from her grasp.
“Of course we still need it. Come Farengar, I need you to transcribe this map and have it ready for when I return.” The woman said and dragged the court wizard off.
“Right then, if you’re done switching clothes, you’re with me bosmer.” Irileth ordered, “I hope you’re as good at killing dragons as they say.”
“I dunno. How good do they say I am?”
At the main gate, a group of four guards had assembled in front of the barracks, though the only way you could tell them apart at a glance was by their different helmets.
“Alright men listen up, a dragon has been spotted!” Irileth called them to attention. “As soldiers of Whiterun, it’s our duty to stop it.”
The men began murmuring amongst themselves, and in his changeling vision, Stross could plainly see the worry surfacing in them. Bright patches of sickly green and yellow bubbled over the surface of their souls like cold pea soup.
“Shape up men! This dragon threatens our families and homes; could you call yourselves soldiers if you did nothing to stop it? Could you call yourselves Nords?” Irileth paced before them, “And think of this, the first dragon to be spotted in Skyrim since the end of the last age. We shall have the honor of slaying the beast, the triumph this day shall be ours!”
The whole time Irileth had been giving her rallying speech, Stross watched as the shifting mass of green was perforated by spots and streaks of bright red as their morale increased. By the end they were cheering and glowing bright, and Stross had a newfound respect for the housecarl.
“Forward men, let’s kill us a dragon!” Irileth shouted, and her men charged out the gates.
Fen-Stross held her back a moment once they were out of earshot and asked, “What about what Jarl Balgruuf said about this ‘not being a death or glory mission’ and ‘finding out what we’re up against’?”
“They don’t need to know that. Worst comes to worst and I’ll order a retreat.” Irileth told her, “I’ll hold that damned beast off myself if it means getting them home safely.”
When the group spotted their destination the sun was beginning to set, sending its orange rays across the ground and illuminating the smoldering wreckage that was Whiterun’s western watchtower. The walls had been reduced to rubble, and the training area was in shambles. Provisions and weapons lay scattered everywhere. The main tower itself had been decimated by flame, and there was the distinct smell of burning flesh in the air.
Irileth and her group stopped at a hill, getting a spectacular view of the destruction.
“Well, I don’t see a dragon here now. But it sure looks like he’s been here.” Irileth examined the tower and skies from a distance, “Alright men, let’s move out. Check for survivors, and watch the skies.”
The smell of burnt flesh only intensified the closer they got to the watchtower, and a couple of the men had to hold their noses in order to move forward at all. They immediately began calling out names, digging through the smoking debris and uncovering bodies scorched beyond recognition.
“Ahck, that stench!” one of the soldiers wrinkled his nose, “These poor sods got hit hard.”
“Does anyone remember if Froki or Torr were posted here?” another asked, and only received shrugs from the other three.
It was Irileth that spotted a guard’s body lying in the center of the wreckage, pinned down under an overturned wagon. She found he was alive, and called for help in moving the wagon off of him.
“Ackbar, speak to me. Are you alright? Did you see what happened to the dragon, where did it go?” she questioned once he was free.
He was weak though, and mumbled something illegible. “I’m sorry, what was that?”
Ackbar grunted again.
“Didn’t quite catch that.”
He finally found the strength to shove her off him, “You’re kneeling on my chest!” he choked out, “Also… it’s a… trap.” He breathed his last, but the message was clear; they’d followed the lure and taken the bait.
The dragon that had destroyed the watchtower had been watching them the whole time, waiting not in the skies, but on the ground. It exploded out of the treeline to the south with a boost from its powerful wings, and landed in their midst with a thunderous crash that sent the guards staggering to their knees. It spotted Irilith and roared in her face, covering her in saliva and chewed-up bits of steel.
“Halt!” a guard passing on the road shouted as he ran up to the dragon’s maw with his sword drawn. “You’ve committed crimes against Skyrim and her people. What say you in your defense?”
The dragon squinted down at the mere mortal. “What do I say?” its mouth seemed to curl into a smile at this. Its eyes lit up as it spoke only three words: “Yol…TOOR-SHUL!”
A torrent of fire was released from its gaping mouth, showering the guard in a red-hot gout of flame. As the guard screamed and frantically rolled on the ground to try and put out his burning flesh, the dragon took to the sky and began to circle the area.
“Don’t just stand there, shoot it down!” Irileth ordered.
The soldiers drew their bows and began taking pot-shots at the dragon as it passed overhead. But between the streams of flame it shot along the ground and the sheer speed at which it flew, nearly all their shots missed, despite Irileth’s instructions to ‘make every arrow count’. Even those that hit their mark would simply bounce off the dragon’s hardened scales more often than not.
“This isn’t working!” Stross yelled as she stuck close to Irileth while the dragon took another pass. “What’s the plan?”
“We shoot at it until it lands. Then when it does we group up and hit it ‘till it dies.”
Stross blinked. “That’s a terrible plan!” she shouted over the torrent of flame that passed overhead.
“Do you have a better idea?” the houscarl countered. She pulled Stross out of the way just in time to dodge the dragon's diving attack and its talons raking across the ground. “I hate to admit this, but we’re completely outclassed, and it’s not as though we can just run away without that thing chasing us down like a hawk- Take cover as it flies overhead!” she shouted to her men, who took her advice just as they were about to get roasted.
Eventually, the dragon grew tired of the air game, realizing that it would have a bigger advantage on the ground. It touched down once more, shaking the ground on impact.
“Now is our chance, charge!” Irileth yelled as she drew her sword and ran headlong into battle.
“For Skyrim!”
“Fall to me dragon!”
“Never should have come here!”
“LEEEEROOOOOY JENKINS!” her guards shouted as they drew their hammers and maces and joined her.
Without a fighter's raw strength and no weapon to use, Stross could only stand back and watch as their tactic of ‘run up and start swinging’ failed miserably. One after another the soldiers were pimp-slapped through the air by the dragon’s tail.
[Mirmulnir used tail whip]
*Crunch* “My leg! Oh gods, it broke my le-” *Qu-wumph!*
[It’s super effective!][Whiterun Guard’s speed harshly fell]
“Ah, I had forgotten what fine sport you mortals can provide!” the dragon said as he slowly pressed down on a soldier trapped under his winged hand, slowly crushing the man to death. “Such easy prey. Your screams are my music.”
“Stop! Killing! My! Men!” Irileth yelled as she leapt up and furiously slashed her sword at the dragon’s face, aiming for its eyes and nose holes.
Her sword was sharp, but even with her strength it wasn’t enough to do more than scratch the surface, and after she’d gotten a few good swings in, Mirmulnir had had enough. Irileth let out a scream of pain as he chomped down on her sword arm, weapon and all, and lifted her off the ground.
“AAH! Let go of me!” Irileth shrieked as razor sharp teeth the size of knives tore into her flesh.
A glittering beam of magic splashed over the dragon’s face. Stross’s stun spell was no match for the dragon’s sheer size, but it served as a decent enough annoyance.
Mirmulnir whipped his neck and threw Irileth away before turning his full attention to the silver-haired elf standing defiantly before him.
“Yeah, how about you chew on someone your own si-… someone closer to your own relative size!” Stross taunted.
Mirmulnir stalked closer, making sure the ground shook with each tremendous step. He lowered his massive maw and snorted a puff of hot air into her face. “Mu los hin oblaan. (We are your end.) Quake in fear, tiny mortal filth. Your world shall burn. Pah fen saluk ful mu aal alok. (All will perish so we may arise.)”
“Burn this.” The elf said and threw a cone of flames from her outstretched palms.
Mirmulnir scoffed. He was a dragon; they were resistant to fire! That pitiful spellcraft mortals used in a mockery of his kind’s power was little more than a warm summer breeze to him.
“Yol…” he inhaled, ready to show an inferno only a dovah could produce, “TOOR SHUL!”
When the blindingly bright flames cleared, nothing remained but scorched earth, and Mirmulnir smirked victoriously.
Then something struck his side with a soft *pop* and suddenly it felt as though the fires of oblivion were burning through his scales. He fell to the ground and rolled trying to get it off, but the scalding light persisted. Out of the corner of his vision, the dragon saw something briefly before it flickered out of view.
Meanwhile, Stross was making good use of his invisibility to stay out of sight. Every time he got behind the dragon he’d fire one of his augmented flashbangs and then patch the hole made in his disguise. He couldn’t keep his invisibility in place while trying to channel that much magic through the gaps, and every time he had to fix it he felt himself use up another chunk of energy. Even the augmented flashbangs took a lot more out of him than the normal kind, but the melting effect seemed to be the only thing he had that could even hurt the dragon, so he was willing to sacrifice a bit for that if it meant getting Irileth and her men to safety.
Realizing that they were in no condition to fight, or even move at that point, Stross let another spell fly. This time though, he didn’t bother putting up his disguise again, instead he stood in plain sight as the dragon thrashed, and another hole was burned in its hide. He’d have to lure it away from the injured soldiers.
“Hey you big stupid lizard, over here!” Stross yelled, jumping and waving his arms over his head. “Come get me!”
You’d have to be pretty dumb to fall for a taunt like that. But Mirmulnir was too angry and blinded by pain and annoyance. A hurricane fanned from Mirmulnir’s wings he charged through the air at Stross, darting towards him faster than the hooded changeling expected.
The dragon slammed into Stross and took him through the air on the end of its muzzle. It came to a skidding halt in the fields a short distance from the watchtower and squinted its eyes at the bug that had splattered on his face.
“Yol…” it began and opened its mouth wide.
Stross took his one opportunity and threw a flash-melt into the dragon’s open maw.
Mirmulnir’s eyes went wide. The dragon thrashed and whipped its head and shot streams of fire into the air, roaring in anger and pain as its throat was disintegrated.
Stross tried to get some distance so he wasn’t caught in the dragon’s wild, pain induced flailing. But it wouldn’t allow it; if it was going to fall to a mere mortal, it would at least take that mortal with it!
It bounded the distance between itself and Stross with bloodlust burning in its eyes, becoming weaker as the cauterized hole in its throat made it slowly suffocate. What would have definitely been a threatening roar only came out as a loud, retching gurgle.
Giant claws smashed and carved at the ground as Stross backed up and the dragon struggled forward. A few got too close for comfort, and soon Stross’s back hit a wall. He turned his head and saw that he’d backpedaled all the way to the watchtower.
Mirmulnir reared his head and neck, ready to bite Stross in half before he had to bite the dirt.
In a stroke of inspiration triggered by imminent demise, an idea came to Stross: if he could overcharge his flashbang for a more powerful effect, then it should work for his other spells too.
The last time, his stun spell fizzled off the dragon’s hide… so what about flames?
He held out his hands and sent out the bright orange cone of fire, but focused in on them, channeling into the spell as much magika as he could as quickly as he could. He willed the flames to burn hotter, brighter, stronger, more intense!
The fire burned white, even burning the changeling’s hands as they flew. It became like liquid on contact, like white lava spewing from a volcano on the surface of the sun.
Mirmulnir was covered in the molten, sticky substance that burned through his scales and to the bone nearly in an instant. Unable to take any more, the massive beast collapsed to the ground. The burning white goop lost its color and evaporated into smoke, leaving only the charred bones of the dragon it had finished.
Stross breathed heavily and slid down with his back against the wall. He couldn’t believe what he’d just done. It was incredible, and scary. He should have felt exhausted using up that much power so fast, but he didn’t. His vision blurred a couple times, but quickly refocused. He looked at his hands, burned and blistered from where his own spell had damaged him, but to his shock, they were already healing. The charred and cracked scales were either filling in, or falling off to reveal new, undamaged ones beneath. He was probably burning through his energy like crazy healing like this.
It was then that the acrid smell from the dragon carcass hit him. He still couldn’t believe that he actually brought it down. It was actually dead. Irileth and her men wouldn’t get eaten. Whiterun was safe!
Then… why did something feel wrong?
Stross slipped into his changeling senses, and the bones before him seemed coated in a radiant gold that shined from within them. The changeling could barely breathe, realizing he was looking at the dragon’s soul. It was amazing, but the dragon was dead now, and souls dissipated when their living body died, as every changeling should know.
Why then was this soul still clinging so tightly to its body?
“Mirmulnir, dii ah, huznu ahrk boziik. Vir das hi lost kosaan krinaan. (Mirmulnir, my hunter, heedless and bold. How soon you have been slain.)” a dark and disembodied voice echoed out softly in a language Stross couldn’t understand.
“Alok ontzos. Funt zey ni. Slen Tiid Vo!” (Arise again. Fail me not. Flesh Time Undo!)
As soon as the last words were spoken, the dragon’s soul flared like the sun, and Stross had to pull out of his changeling vision in order to not get blinded. The light swirled around the dragon’s dead body, rebuilding flesh and scale at a miraculous rate as the entire thing rose up above him.
Mirmulnir’s eyes popped open. He spotted Stross, and his pupil contracted as a rekindled fury rushed through him. He had returned with a vengeance.
“How!? I- You were-“ Stross stammered in disbelief, “What the buck?!”
“My lord Alduin will ensure the Dovah survive. Mu nis funt, nuz hi fent dir. (We cannot fail, but you shall die.) Yol...”
Stross’s mind raced a mile a minute looked for a way out, but he was cornered by Mirmulnir’s outstretched wings. He couldn’t fly fast enough to dodge a moving stream of dragonfire, and there was no way he could crawl under the dragon’s legs without him just sitting on him. He doubted he could even heal fast enough to survive being roasted alive.
“Toor…”
This couldn’t be the end! This just can’t be-
*Shink*
Mirmulnir went silent mid thu’um and his eyes turned from furious slits, to pained pinpricks as someone shoved a broadsword blade into a VERY tender area.
The dragon roared in pain and bolted up into the sky, revealing the silver-haired elf that was standing behind him.
“F-Fenora?” Stross felt himself tremble in glee at the mere sight of her. “Fenora!”
Suddenly nothing else mattered. The only thing he needed to do now was run up and tackle her into a big hug with every one of his limbs.
“Stross… there’s a-“ Fenora tried to say as she strained under the sudden weight.
“Fenora, you came back! You came back to save me!” Stross said and affectionately rubbed his cheek against hers. “I love you for this!”
“Stross the dragon-“
“Doesn’t stand a chance now that we’re together again! Nothing in the world can stop us now!”
Suddenly Mirmulnir crashlanded on the ground right next to them with Fenora’s two-hander still firmly planted up his… you know what, not gonna go there. The point is he was pissed!
But Stross wasn’t worried, ‘cause Fenora was back!
“Oh fuck me!” Fenora yelled and took off in the other direction, dragging Stross behind her by his hand.
“I’d love to! But first let’s finish this fight!”
Fenora rolled her eyes and pulled them both behind a pile of rubble, and a wave of fire washed over them barely the second after they were safe. Still, the heat managed to catch their clothes on fire, and Fenora started frantically patting herself down to put it out.
Stross just smiled and wrapped her in another hug. “This is awesome!”
“What was I thinking?! This is not awesome! This is the opposite of awesome! What are we going to do now?!” Stross yelled as he dove behind a pile of wrecked training equipment before it was turned to ashes by yet another stream of flame.
The joy of Fenora’s return had quickly worn off when Mirmulnir proceeded to utterly obliterate everything even remotely near them. Even if Stross could bring himself to leave Irileth and her wounded men behind, there was nothing around the watchtower except wide open plains. With nowhere to run, the only thing left to do was fight.
That led to the problem that Mirmulnir was unkillable. Oh… and he’s also a very pissed off dragon with a sword up its ass.
That didn’t help matters any.
Stross didn’t have time to think of a substantial escape plan, so he just did the first thing that came to mind: running around in circles trying to keep the dragon’s attention off of Fenora.
It was working pretty well so far.
That was a very bad thing for him.
“Why do I always have to come up with the plan?! I don’t have all the answers!” Fenora shouted as she popped out of cover to fire another arrow. It bounced off the dragon’s scales just like the last twenty. She ducked back down and snuck out of sight as Stross threw up his invisibility illusion and did the same.
Mirlulnir growled and snorted, taking to the sky again in search of his prey.
“Nothing works on this thing. Did they seriously expect us to kill it in the first place?” Fenora asked as they regrouped. “Why the ‘Blivion did you agree to tag along with these maniacs?!”
“We weren’t. We were just supposed to chase it off or some stupidness, I don't know.” Stross admitted. “I don’t think… that they were fully prepared… for this offensive! And even if they were it wouldn’t matter anyway. I killed it once already, but it just came back to life!”
At that, Stross checked his fingers, thinking for sure that he’d be corroding away by now. But much to his confusion, they were still fully intact, with only the tiniest of holes dotting the very surface of his shell. And with all the magic he’d been using and the burns he’d healed, that shouldn’t be right. If he wasn’t using his own energy, then what was fueling-
“Stross. Stross! Back to Nirn.” Fenora shook him out of it, “What do you mean you already killed it?”
“Huh? I shoved a flash-melt down its throat and then overcharged my flames spell and covered it in molten lava.” Stross told her like it was simple, confused at the shock on her face.
Mirmulnir swooped overhead again, and they kept close to the wall, hoping he wouldn’t look in their direction.
“So why are we wasting our time screwing around.” Fenora asked, “Just melt the damn thing again.”
“But there’s no point! It’ll just get back up good as new the second it dies, just like last time. It’s got some kind of… mega healing spell that can reverse death! That giant flying bringer of flaming death is unkillable! And that's just cheating." Stross said with a pouty face, "And I don’t know how many more times I can do that anyway. For some reason my magic isn’t draining me like normal; I have no idea if this fight is slowly killing me or not.”
Fenora knew why. She wanted to tell him, but couldn’t risk him breaking down while a dragon was trying to kill them. “Don’t worry about that now. We’ll figure it out later, but we need some way out of this or something else is going to kill you really fast.
“And if you mention anything about me being a meat-shield, I’m going to leave you here for real.” Fenora warned him.
Stross’s ears perked up as an idea came to him. He turned to her and opened his mouth.
“I freaking mean it Stross.”
“No no- not that!” Stross assured her, “Well actually… kinda like that, but not-”
Mirmulnir’s thunderous roar right above them cut him off, and they knew their break was over. A pillar of flame hit the spot they were standing and they made a run for the central training area.
“Fen! I need your sword.”
“Sure, I’ll just fire giant toothpicks at him while you’re gone.” She snarked and tossed him her frost sword. He caught it and collapsed under its weight.
“I can’t lift this thing!” Stross complained at he tried to carry the enchanted weapon.
“Get stronger!” Fenora encouraged.
Stross had no time for a witty response before Mirmulnir caught up to them. As Fenora took cover again, Stross dashed towards the ground entrance of the tower.
The dragon spotted him immediately and gave chase, diving straight for him with a mouth full of fire. Turning on his heel, Stross threw another glowing orb.
Mirmulnir had learned that trick though, and dashed to the side to avoid it. The dragon dug its claws into the ground to correct its course and snapped its jaws angrily at the changeling. Stross had only just enough of a lead to made it inside the tower.
Trying his best to ignore the charred remains of people covering the stone floor, Stross quickly climbed the stairs to the top of the watchtower. He gripped the hilt of the sword and approached the side of the roof, hoping Mirmulnir was still at the bottom of the tower. To his dismay, the dragon’s face rose up to greet him as he peered over the edge.
“Yol Toor Shul!!”
Stross jumped back, narrowly avoiding its fire-breath. Mirmulnir’s giant wings appeared over the side, and razor-sharp talons scratched against rock as he pulled himself up over the edge and onto the roof.
“Nowhere left to run.” Mirmulnir growled. He lunged forward, and Stross dove off the edge.
Mirmulnir stopped just short of the edge, thinking his prey had fallen to its death to deny him the satisfaction of the kill. But then Stross hovered up into the air in front of his muzzle.
“What’s the matter, big scary dragon can’t catch a little bug like me?” the changeling taunted and shook his butt in the dragon’s face before flying upwards as fast as his translucent wings could carry him.
Once again, in his anger Mirmulnir took the bait. He shot off from the top of the tower, pumping his wings and readying a mouthful of crackling flame.
Stross saw his chance. Drawing Fenora’s frost sword he slammed on the brakes and turned to see the dragon coming at him at full speed. He had to wait for the opportune moment. Just like in the barrow.
Mirmulnir got closer. "Wait for it…"
The dragon opened its mouth full of teeth and fire.
"Now!"
Stross twisted and rolled to the right, but still got nicked by the teeth on the side of the dragon’s mouth. Stross felt something in his side tear, but it was eclipsed by the crushing force he felt when he hit the dragon’s shoulder. Or rather… when the dragon’s shoulder hit him. The dragon barely registered the impact, but that didn’t matter, because Stross’s targets all along were the dragon’s wings. This was his chance; he couldn’t waste it. He took the tip of the frost sword and dug it into the leathery wing before he could roll off. It took a second for the blade to catch, but when it did, the effect was immediate.
Freezing steel tore through hard scales and membrane until the largest section of the right wing had been slashed through.
After being thrown off by the dragon’s frantic flapping in a futile attempt to stay airborne, Stross dove back to the ground while the beast fall to the earth dozens of feet below.
Back on the ground, Fenora was beginning to wonder why she had bothered to come back. Stross, that strange soul-devouring changeling she’d met just that morning had just brought down a freaking dragon for the second time in a row. Even after everything she’d been through that day, what that bug had done was just the most unbelievable thing she’d ever seen.
He landed beside her and tossed her back the frost sword as she wordlessly stared at him. “Fenora, go for its legs! We need to cripple this jerk as much as possible without killing him before we can run!”
Mirmulnir was just recovering from his fall to earth, and actually showed signs of weakness as his got back up again, more enraged than ever due to the loss of its wing.
“Pahlokaal mey! (Arrogant fool!) Your efforts are for not. Alduin shall ensure my revival… again and again. This means nothing!”
As he began indiscriminately breathing fire on everything around, Stross got his attention and charged forward despite the flames. Fenora saw her chance when the dragon turned to track him, and with the frost sword from Bleak Falls, she rushed at its hind legs.
“This ends here!” she yelled as she charged.
They say that gravity and momentum are great allies when they’re on your side. Fenora learned this to be true today as she plunged the entire length of the sword into the dragon’s thigh and out the other side.
The dragon howled in pain, bucking and stomping as the enchantment on the sword froze its meat and blood as the blade cut through its flesh. Despite this movement Fenora kept a firm grip, and the jerky, spastic movement only helped to work the blade back and forth and saw through the leg.
Craning its neck to face the accursed mortal, the dragon prepared to incinerate her. Stross saw this, and leapt atop Mirmulnir’s head. Before he could place a flash-melt though, the dragon kept shaking him off. But he couldn’t let him get to Fenora.
Stross got an idea, but it was going to be painful, he knew. He sucked in a deep breath and aimed his horn at his own hands. “Oh this is going to hurt me more than it hurts you.” he said through clenched teeth.
His horn flashed twice, and two flash-melts stuck to his palms. He shoved them into the dragon’s eye sockets the second they popped, and both he and the dragon let out agonized shrieks as the rays of light started dissolving scale and sclera alike.
It. Was. Horrible. Stross screamed like a banshee as he and the dragon shared this pain. It was so hot it felt cold. Freezing even, yet it felt wet and melty at the same time.
“Fallen, I promise if I live though this I’ll never do this to anyone ever again!” was his one congruent thought throughout the pain.
Finally the light faded and he was able to retrieve his hands.
Mirmulnir reared back, but as it placed its weight on its hind legs, there was a crack, followed by a snap. Its leg bent at an unnatural angle and it fell to the ground again, breathing heavily and finally submitting its will to move.
Stross fell onto his back, doing the same, and Fenora rushed over to him as he looked at his hands. They were a melted mess; he saw that all the flesh had been melted off, leaving the bare bones underneath, and even those seemed to be fused together at the joints. They resembled glass more than actual bone now.
“Stross.” Fenora knelt down next to him. “Are you going to be alright?”
Stross nodded weakly. He at least hoped he’d be able to recover. “I’m never using flash-melts again. Let’s just get back to Whiterun, maybe they can keep it trapped somehow.”
As Fenora helped him up, Stross looked over at where Mirmulnir lay, mutilated and down for the count. Stross couldn’t help but feel bad for what he’d done. Yes it was trying to kill him, and yes it had already killed at least half a dozen guards for sport, and finally… yes it would have killed everyone in Whiterun given the chance. But looking at the dragon now in its pathetic state, Stross felt pity for it.
In a way they were a lot alike; they were both dangerous creatures no one understood. But that’s where the similarities ended, Stross told himself. He tried to be better, to adapt, to coexist. These dragons just destroyed whatever they didn’t like.
Knowing this would have to be enough for him to justify what he did.
Then the dragon stirred. “Alduin…jaaril zey. (protect me).”
“What’s it doing?” Fenora asked as the dragon raised a talon to it neck. “Oh don’t tell me-“
Mirmulnir dragged his talon across his own throat, the sharpness easily cutting through the tough scales. Mirmulnir let out a gurgled chuckle as he began to bleed out.
“NO! Shit, it’s killing itself!” Fenora yelled and tore off her singed fur coat and shoved it in the wound, “We can’t let it die or it’ll just come back again!”
Stross was in no position to help, and wouldn’t even know what to do if he was.
“Al…du…in.” Mirmulnir gurgled out before his chest’s rapid rise and fall stilled again.
“No…” Fenora breathed as the fearful realization set in. Any second now Mirmulnir would be back again, good as new. “How long do we have!?” she asked Stross.
“A little longer than we’ve been talking.”
Once again the golden embers began to appear on Mirmulnir’s corpse. Fenora backed up and Stross just fell to his knees, both of them utterly at a loss for what to do.
But this time, something was different. Despite the blinding glow, Stross slipped in to his changeling senses. What he saw made his eyes go wide and his jaw drop. Fenora’s soul started glowing in the same golden light, and the light in the dragon’s body seemed drawn to hers. The spirit took form and rose from the dragon’s body as what remained burned away. Like a piece the night sky illuminated by the morning sun, it spread its ethereal wings as the last little embers joined it.
“Dovahkiin… No! Impossible.” It spoke before it became a whirlwind of energy and light that rushed towards Fenora. Her own soul glowed brighter and brighter as the remnants were absorbed into her being. Finally, everything was still.
Fenora looked between herself and the dragon’s skeleton.
“What… the actual fuck?”
===Meanwhile in Sovngarde===
Alduin, the World-Eater and firstborn of Akatosh stirred from his healing slumber in the metaphysical realm. So many long years had passed since his banishment, and though he was gone from Nirn, the decay of time was still felt on him.
His attack on that mountain village, a short detour on his way to revive his dormant brethren, was just what he needed to remind him again of what it was to be alive. But he had overestimated what power he still had. Only two of his once mighty army were awoken before he felt the strain threaten to overtake him. It would take time to recover, and to gather his forces. But the mortals he sought to eradicate were just as weak if not more so than he remembered, and their petty civil war was providing him with all the nourishment he could ever need to regain his former strength; every battle, every siege, every raid and skirmish led to more dead soldiers whose souls were his to prey upon.
Time would be needed to ensure his victory. And fortunately for him, time was something he had plenty of.
But then Alduin felt something... a sort of disruption in the energy that binds all life in the world together. A spike of pain shot through the very essence of his being.
"Mirmulnir..." he gasped, "No.."
Time was no longer on his side. Alduin sensed something that could ruin his plans forever. Something that could ultimately destroy him if it were allowed to persist.
Alduin scowled, and spoke the word with a bitterness unparalleled by any curse. "Dragonborn."
...
"Fuck my life!