Chapter Text
It was fully night by the time they arrived at Dragonsreach. Part of this was due to the travel, part because Nyxallia insisted on procuring a different set of attire for Papyrus. Since they hadn't yet split their spoils, she fronted the payment for a set of robes and boots to fit him. It was surprisingly comfortable, and she had even thoughtfully gotten something with a cowl. Once again, only his glowing orange eyelights were visible. he readjusted the armor he had scavenged in the barrow to rest more comfortably under the robes, then they pressed on.
The chilly air evaporated immediately as they entered the main hall. While Nyxallia knew immediately where they were going, it was Papyrus's first time inside. He glanced around in awe at the massive chamber. Up a set of steps was a pair of banquet tables big enough for the entire court, set on either side of the warmest, coziest bonfire he had ever seen. To the left, he could see what appeared to be a large kitchen, and beyond the fire was the throne on a small dais. It was unoccupied for the moment.
But Nyxallia led him off to the right, into what appeared to be a wizard's study. A long table divided the room, sectioning off the foyer where they were from the inner library and lab setups. There were two people standing behind the table, both engrossed in an ancient text. One, who he presumed was the wizard, wore black hooded robes. His hands were visible though, and covered in scars from years of spell and alchemy mishaps. The other wore a hood over a set of leather armor. The wizard was explaining something to her.
"You see? The terminology is clearly First Era or even earlier. I'm convinced this is a copy of a much older text. Perhaps dating to just after the Dragon War. If so, I could use this to cross-reference the names with other later texts."
The leather-clad woman responded, "Good. I'm glad you're making progress. My employers are anxious to have some tangible answers."
They went back and forth for a short time as Nyxallia approached and made her presence known. Papyrus lost track of the conversation as his attention turned to the various books on the wizard's shelf. Some of the tomes looked well-loved, others as though he'd procured them for one use and never touched them again. The alchemy table was scuffed and worn smooth from years of use. Clearly, this was a man whose primary passion was the pursuit of knowledge.
He was vaguely aware of the leather-clad woman leaving, just as another woman, this one also in leather armor, came charging in yelling for the wizard. The woman was dark skinned, with pointed ears and blood red war paint on her cheeks. She looked composed, but frantic.
"Farengar! Farengar, you need to come at once. A dragon's been sighted nearby."
His marrow ran cold at the prospect. Farengar took off behind the woman. She in turn suggested Nyxallia come as well. Nyxallia beckoned to him and they were off. They went up a set of stairs to the right of the throne, collecting a city guardsman on the way. Behind the throne, the group gathered before a tall, blonde man in fine robes. The crown atop his braids meant this was the city's ruler. At his hip hung a sword. He approached the group, his presence commanding, yet not as smug and distasteful as Farengar had been.
"So, Irileth tells me you came from the western watchtower?"
The leather-armored woman--Irileth, he surmised--addressed the guard.
"Tell him what you told me. About the dragon."
The guard, his face hidden behind his helm, spoke up. His voice sounded young.
"Uh, that's right. We saw it coming from the south. It was fast... faster than anything I've ever seen."
The crowned man spoke again, "What did it do? Is it attacking the watchtower?"
The guard shook his head.
"No, my lord. 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."
The crowned man nodded appreciatively.
"Good work, son. We'll take it from here. Head down to the barracks for some food and rest. You've earned it," he turned to the dark-skinned woman, "Irileth, you'd better gather some guardsmen and get down there."
She drew herself up proudly.
"I've already ordered my men to muster near the main gate."
"Good. Don't fail me."
He then turned to Nyxallia.
"There's no time to stand on ceremony, my friend. I need your help again. I want you to go with Irileth and help her fight this Dragon. You survived Helgen, so you have more experience with dragons then 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. And please accept this gift from my personal armory."
Nyxallia nodded sharply in thanks as he handed her a new axe. The man glanced at Papyrus in passing, but Farengar stepped up before anything else could be said.
"I should come along. I would very much like to see this dragon."
The crowned man spoke firmly.
"No. I can't afford to risk both of you. I need you here working on ways to defend the city against these dragons."
Farengar seemed disappointed, but hid it well behind a small bow.
"As you command."
The lord finally turned to Irileth one final time.
"One last thing, Irileth. This isn't a death or glory mission. I need to know what we're dealing with."
She smiled warmly, "Don't worry, my lord. I'm the very soul of caution."
Irileth then began jogging towards the exit, Nyxallia close behind. Papyrus sighed to himself.
How do I manage to get myself into these situations?
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The western watchtower lay nearly in ruins before them. He, Nyxallia, Irileth, and three city guards crouched behind the crest of a hill to survey the damage. While Irileth gave a short pep talk to the guards, he nudged Nyxallia.
"The lord mentioned Helgen?"
She nodded.
"His name is Balgruuf. He's the Jarl, or ruler, of Whiterun Hold. Helgen is--or was--a small village to the south in Falkreath Hold. It was destroyed by a dragon. Not many people survived. Me, a couple guards, Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak, and a young boy."
Irileth's voice cut Nyxallia off before she could say much else.
"Spread out and look for survivors. We need to know what we're dealing with."
She, the guards, and Nyxallia drew their weapons and moved in carefully. Papyrus followed less closely, drawing his bow and keeping an eye on the sky. He saw Nyxallia and Irileth discover a survivor inside the tower.
He heard a roar from over the horizon.
From the south, over the mountains, it came. It was huge, easily larger than any of the houses in Whiterun. The dark of the night obscured any further detail from him, but its roar struck icy fear into his marrow.
Irileth shouted, and everyone opened fire. It was incredibly hard to hit in the gloom. Nyxallia managed to strike it with a firebolt, and the flames lingered for a short while. Papyrus and the guards took advantage of the visibility and pelted it with arrows.
The beast circled several times before landing hard before the small group. Papyrus knew very little about this world, and he knew even less about dragons. Still, he was not expecting to hear the dragon speak.
"Brit grah. I had forgotten what fine sport you mortals can provide!"
If it hadn't been trying to kill them, Papyrus would have balked at the thought of slaying an intelligent being. But clearly, this dragon had no intention of parleying or peacemaking. A bit regretfully, he kept firing as it lifted into the sky once more.
The beast kept everyone on their toes, pivoting and hovering at critical moments. It landed twice more, each time doing terrible damage with its teeth and claws. Its fiery breath made him feel like he were roasting in his armor.
Finally, it landed squarely before Nyxallia. She reached for another spell, only for nothing to happen. She was completely out of magicka. She hefted her new axe instead, a vicious snarl on her face.
The dragon's expression changed into what could be best described as a feral grin.
"You are brave. Balaan hokoron. Your defeat brings me honor."
She swung hard into the beast's face, deftly dancing around its fangs. She barely blinked as it breathed a stream of fire directly at her. It hadn't even singed her eyebrows off.
Then, in an incredible display, Nyxallia swiped at its nose and leapt onto its head as it recoiled. The tables had been turned! The dragon screeched as Nyxallia bludgeoned it with her axe several times. At last, she gave a mighty swing behind the hinge of its jaw and leapt off its head as it stood high up on its legs.
"Dovahkiin! No!"
The dragon collapsed mightily before her, the ground shuddering under its weight. Then, its body began to burn with an unnatural, multicolored fire. Its scales disintegrated, coalesced into the flames, and then rushed forward, engulfing Nyxallia in a shimmering rainbow stream.She staggered under the weight of it. After a few moments, the apparent transfer of power was over. Only an ivory skeleton remained of the dragon, while Nyxallia seemed to have absorbed the dragon's essence. She still sparked with the echoes of the flames.
All was silent for several long moments, until one of the guards finally spoke up.
"By the gods... You're... Dragonborn."
The others piped up.
"Dragonborn? What are you talking about?"
"That's right! My grandfather used to tell stories about the Dragonborn. Those born with the dragon blood in 'em. Like old Tiber Septim himself."
"I never heard of Tiber Septim killing any dragons."
"There weren't any dragons then, idiot. 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. You must be one!"
"What do you say, Irileth? You're being awfully quiet."
The group as a whole turned towards the elven woman expectantly.
"Come on, Irileth, tell us, do you believe in this Dragonborn business?"
She scoffed derisively.
"Hmph. Some of you would be better off keeping quiet than flapping your gums on matters you don't know anything about. Here's a dead dragon, and that's something I definitely understand. Now we know we can kill them. But I don't need some mythical Dragonborn. Someone who can put down a dragon is more than enough for me."
The guards looked a little put out.
"You wouldn't understand, Housecarl. You ain't a Nord."
Irileth looked annoyed at them.
"I've been all across Tamriel. 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."
She turned to Nyxallia, ignoring the grumbles of her men.
"That was the hairiest fight I've ever been in, and I've been in more than a few. I don't know about this Dragonborn business, but I'm sure glad you're with us. You better get back to Whiterun right away. Jarl Balgruuf will want to know what happened here."
She nodded, but stayed put, lost in thought. Papyrus, curious, needled the guard for a little more information.
"Well, is there a way to prove someone is Dragonborn?"
The first guard brightened, pleased that at least someone was taking him seriously.
"There's only one way to find out.", he turned to Nyxallia, "Try to Shout. That would prove it. According to the old legends, only the Dragonborn could Shout without training, the way the dragons do."
He turned expectantly to Nyxallia. Maybe this was tied to that strange energy from the barrow. She glanced at him, then back to the dragon bones, took a deep breath...
But nothing happened.
Thinking back, her voice had rarely risen beyond a whisper. She was soft-spoken in the most literal sense of the phrase. Even in combat, she made little noise. Perhaps outright Shouting was an unusual and outlandish request for her to honor. He didn't have much time to ruminate on it. She turned sharply and headed back up the road towards Whiterun. He hustled after her.
"You don't look very happy about this!"
She was walking so fast now that he was surprised her fragile humanoid bones could hold up to it.
Her voice would not have been out of place in a library, and it quivered with trepidation, "I never wanted to be the hero. I just want to go buy a farm somewhere and make an honest living. What's so wrong with that?"
He faltered for a moment, trying to think of the best way to console his new friend. She had a point. Being the "chosen one" sounded... awful. It didn't matter what the chosen one wanted, only what fate required of them. She was bound to this course, no matter how much she tried to fight it, as helpless as a ship drifting on the open sea.
As if she'd been following his train of thought, she lamented, "I'm no more in control of my life now than when I left home..."
"Well...", he offered, "consider that you never have to wonder what to do with your life. The expectations are clear and, fate willing, the end result is already decided in your favor. You won't ever have to worry about feeling aimless or without purpose."
She scoffed, unimpressed by this narrative. By now they were passing the stables. She had really been moving fast, Papyrus nearly having to jog to keep up with her. At once, the ground shook viciously, stopping them both cold. A sound like the loudest thunderclap he'd ever heard shook the very air around them, and from somewhere in the heavens, a single word resonated in their bones.
"DOVAHKIIN!"
A further, softer rumble punctuated the singular word, and the world was still once again. Even the horses in their stalls seemed completely frozen under the weight of whatever had just happened. He looked to Nyxallia, who stood a moment longer, staring up at the peak of the tallest of the mountains in the distance. Then, without another word, she turned and power-walked up the road towards Whiterun.
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Nothing more had been said between them when they once more crossed the threshold into Dragonsreach. Despite the late hour, Jarl Balgruuf and two other men were meeting at the throne, conversing animatedly.
"You heard the summons. What else could it mean? The Greybeards... ", spoke an unfamiliar man with scaled armor.
The three men went silent at Nyxallia's approach. Papyrus hung back a short distance, partially out of respect and partially as an excuse to warm his near-frozen bones by the fire. The Jarl sat up a little more on his throne as he addressed her.
"So, what happened at the watchtower? Was the dragon there?"
Nyxallia's voice was so soft, it didn't carry well enough for him to hear her response. But Jarl Balgruuf, well-versed in speaking to his court, projected well. He even managed to still sound calm and neutral despite the volume.
"I knew I could count on Irileth. But there must be more to it than that."
Nyxallia's gaze dropped to the floor.
"Dragonborn? What do you know about the Dragonborn?", came the Jarl's somewhat skeptical reply.
He could see Nyxallia's hands nervously fidgeting in front of her.
"So it's true. The Greybeards really were summoning you... Masters of the Way of the Voice. They live in seclusion high on the slopes of the Throat of the World."
He gave up on trying to hear what his friend had to say. But judging by her posture and body language, she was projecting an air of humility and perhaps a little fear.
"The Dragonborn is said to be uniquely gifted in the Voice--the ability to focus your vital essence into a Thu'um, or Shout. If you really are Dragonborn, they can teach you how to use your gift."
At this, the man in scaled armor piped up, "Didn't you hear the thundering sound as you returned to Whiterun? 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!"
The other man, a nobly dressed, slim man with a mustache, cut in, "Hrongar, calm yourself. What does any of this Nord nonsense have to do with our friend here? Capable as she may be, I don't see any signs of her being this, what, Dragonborn."
Hrongar (he assumed) stood up straighter, looking downright offended.
"Nord nonsense? Why, you puffed-up ignorant... These are our sacred traditions that go back to the founding of the First Empire!"
The Jarl raised a hand.
"Hrongar. Don't be so hard on Avenicci."
The nobleman, presumably Avenicci, demurred slightly.
"I meant no disrespect of course. It's just that... what do these Greybeards want with her?"
Jarl Balgruuf shook his head, "That's the Greybeards' business, not ours.", he continued, turning to Nyxallia, "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? You'd better get up to High Hrothgar immediately. There's no refusing the summons of the Greybeards. It's a tremendous honor. I envy you, you know. To climb the Seven Thousand Steps again... I mead the pilgrimage once, did you know that? 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."
Nyxallia nodded, a little hesitantly. But the Jarl wasn't quite finished with her yet.
"You've done a great service for me and my city, Dragonborn.", Nyxallia cringed ever so slightly at the use of the formal title, "By my right as Jarl, I name you Thane of Whiterun. It's the greatest honor that's within my power to grant. I would grant you a personal housecarl, but..."
The Jarl gestured at Papyrus, beckoning him to approach the throne. Nyxallia turned, a small degree of relief on her face as she realized she wasn't going to stand alone anymore.
"... It seems you already have a worthy one right here. I grant you both these weapons from my armory to serve as your badges of office."
Avenicci brought out (with a fair amount of effort he barely managed to conceal from his lord) a pair of shiny, steel swords. He handed one to Nyxallia and the other to him. Not knowing the exact proper etiquette, Papyrus bowed to the men. Nyxallia belted the new weapon on in place of her old one, her eyes slightly glassy.
Jarl Balgruuf continued a short while longer, "I'll also notify my guards of your new title. Wouldn't want them to think you're part of the common rabble, now would we? We are honored to have you as Thane of our city, Dragonborn."
At last, he seemed done. Nyxallia bowed a bit and began striding to the exit. Papyrus stumbled slightly after her, a little embarrassed, but more concerned with how his friend was holding up. She had seemed so upset with things.
Alas, no amount of prodding garnered more than a noncommittal grunt out of her the rest of the night. She barely ate anything, barely touched her mead, and when they went up to their rented room for the night, she almost laid down still in her armor.
By the time he'd helped her undo the back straps on her pauldrons and breastplate, he realized they had a slight conundrum. There was only one bed. It was a big one, certainly large enough for both of them, but...
"Just take the left side. Don't make it weird.", she practically whispered.
He hesitated, partially because he didn't want to make her uncomfortable and partially because he was terrified she'd brush up against him by mistake and realize he was a little more bare bones than she was expecting.
Nyxallia tucked herself into the right side of the bed, closer to the door, her sword partially unsecured from its sheath and within easy reach. He had a feeling even without it, she'd probably burn anyone trying to break into their room alive within moments.
He decided he really didn't have much choice. His lack of sleep the last couple nights weighed heavily on him, and he really didn't want to spend another night trying to doze off upright in a chair. He waited until she seemed settled, then carefully shucked off just his armor, leaving the robes and cowl on. She shifted slightly as he crawled into the left half of the bed, but otherwise didn't stir.
The candles dimmed in short order, having already been low when they arrived. The hour was late enough that the bar noise was minimal, and it felt... comfortable.
Despite his earlier reservations, he felt at peace. With his companion breathing slowly and steadily behind him, Papyrus fell asleep easily.