VII - Delphine

Riverwood was a quiet, rainy village, but Merill drew her hood low over her face as she entered, not keen to have people remembering her face. She didn’t like being cornered, and she had every intent to make this friend well aware of that. The afternoon was overcast and thunder boomed in the clouds overhead as she made her way through the muddy streets of the dreary logging town. The road was quiet, occupied only by a few chickens, a dirt-smeared wolfhound that followed her about, and a few villagers watching the storm from the cover of their porches. Merill studied each one of their faces from beneath her hood, wondering which one had been spying on her all these weeks.

She found the Sleeping Giant Inn, a tired-looking old building with a few rotting boards in its porch, and made her way inside, glad to be free of the lazy rainfall outside. The inn was crowded, what must have been half the dreary village grouped around the fire to wait out the storm. Merill scanned their faces briefly, quickly turning away when she noticed a Stormcloak watching her.

“Welcome, lass,” the barkeep barked as she approached. “Hang your cloak up and take a seat by the fire, doesn’t look like that rain is going anytime soon.”

“Just a room, actually,” Merill muttered, resisting the urge to glance over her shoulder.

“A room, you said?” Merill turned to see a worn-faced blonde woman in a faded dress join them at the bar, wiping her hands on an old cloth and a tray tucked under her arm. “We’ve got rooms.”

“I want the attic room,” Merill told her sharply, narrowing her eyes. The woman met her gaze and a sort of understanding glimmered in it.

“We haven’t got an attic room,” she said shortly. “But there’s a free one just over here,” she went on, jerking her head behind her. Merill followed her through into the room, and the woman spared a glance around the bar before she closed the door.

“What –” Merill started, but the woman hissed at her for quiet as she crossed the room, pulled open the cupboard, and beckoned for Merill to join her. As she approached, she realized the cupboard had a false back, leading to a short flight of stairs down.

“Shut the doors,” the woman muttered, going ahead of her down the stairs, and Merill closed the wardrobe and slid the false panel into place before following her down into a small room lined shelves heaped with books and potions, weapon racks holding a variety of swords and bows and hammers, an alchemy table, chests and crates stacked atop one another. The center of the room was covered by a rug atop which sat a heavy wooden table laden with all manner of books and scrolls and maps.

“Do you mind telling me what this is all about?” Merill snapped, yanking the crumpled note from her bag and throwing it onto the table as the woman walked around it. “Why you’ve been following me? Are you with the Thalmor?”

“Calm down,” the woman told her sharply. “I should have known you’d be quick to anger.”

“Do you even know my name?” Merill snarled furiously. “Or am I just ‘Dragonborn’ to you?”

“I don’t need to know your name to know that we need you on our side,” the woman replied, casting her a sharp look. “The Greybeards seem to think you’re Dragonborn. I hope they’re right.”

“You would know, wouldn’t you?” Merill said ferociously.

“I need you to listen to me,” the woman replied, sifting through the papers on the table. “At least until I explain what’s going on. Then you can shout all you want. But you need to be quiet down here, the sound can carry up to the bar.”

“Then tell me what’s going on so we can be done with this,” Merill hissed, crossing her arms. “Why have you been following me in secret?”

“You can’t be too careful,” the woman muttered, shaking her head as she searched through the papers. “Thalmor spies are everywhere.”

“You’d best have a good reason for dragging me here, then.”

“I didn’t go through all this trouble on a whim,” the woman replied, casting Merill a dark look. “I needed to make sure it wasn’t a Thalmor trap.” She stepped away from the table, turning to face Merill straight on. “I am not your enemy,” she emphasized. “I’m actually trying to help you. I just need you to hear me out.” Merill said nothing, fixing her with an accusatory glare. The woman reached into a bag at her hip and pulled out an ancient-looking warhorn, tossing it to Merill, who caught it, startled. “There’s your horn. Now listen to me. My name is Delphine. I’m part of a group that’s been looking for you…well, someone like you, for a very long time. If you really are Dragonborn, that is. Before I tell you any more, I need to make sure I can trust you.”

“You want to know if you can trust me?” Merill repeated incredulously, her irritation rising again. “Why should I be trusting you?”

“If you don’t trust me, you were a fool to walk in here in the first place,” Delphine muttered, returning to the table. Before she reached it, Merill had nocked an arrow and had it pointed straight at her.

“I don’t think so,” she said coolly, and Delphine turned to face her again.

“Hear me out,” she said, raising her hands to show that she held no weapon. “I knew the Greybeards would send you to Ustengrav if they thought you were Dragonborn. They’re nothing if not predictable. When you showed up here, I knew you were the one the Greybeards sent, and not some Thalmor plant.”

“So why are you looking for a Dragonborn?” Merill asked, keeping the point of the arrow trained on Delphine’s head.

“We remember what most don’t,” she said simply. “The Dragonborn is the ultimate dragonslayer. You’re the only one that can kill a dragon permanently by devouring its soul.” A flicker of curiosity crossed her face. “Can you do it? Devour a dragon’s soul?” Merill said nothing, and Delphine pressed on. “Dragons aren’t just coming back, see. They’re coming back to life.” Merill slowly lowered her bow, knotting her brows together.

“What do you mean?” she asked warily.

“They weren’t gone somewhere for all these years,” Delphine explained, lowering her hands. “They were dead, killed off centuries ago by my predecessors. Now something’s happening to bring them back to life. And I need you to help me stop it.”

“What makes you think they’re coming back to life?” Merill replied skeptically, unnocking the arrow and returning it to her quiver.

“I know they are,” Delphine replied, fumbling with the papers again. “I’ve visited their ancient burial mounds and found them empty. And I’ve figured out where the next one will come back to life.” She finally found what she’d been looking for, a tattered map of Skyrim marked with red X’s all across. “We’re going there, and you’re going to kill that dragon. If we succeed, I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” Merill paused, absently tweaking her bowstring with one finger.

“Anything?”

“Anything.” They stared at one another for a moment, the only sound being the muffled chatter from the bar upstairs.

“Where are we going, then?” Merill asked finally, and Delphine pointed to a spot on the map just past Windhelm.

“Kynesgrove,” she said at once. “There’s an ancient dragon burial near there. If we can get in there before it happens, maybe we’ll learn how to stop it.”

“Let’s go, then,” Merill said, returning her bow to her back, and Delphine offered her the shadow of a smile.

“Just let me get a few things,” she replied, going to one of the chests against the wall. Merill picked up one of the books on the table as Delphine gathered her things, a black one with the silver dragon crest of the Empire emblazoned on its front. The Book of the Dragonborn, the cover page read. Merill glanced back at Delphine, buckling herself into a set of leather armor, and slipped the book into her bag.

The rain began to slowly shift to snow as they started down the road to Kynesgrove. Delphine was good with a sword, and between the two of them they were able to quickly dispatch those that would stand in their way. The Breton said little for the first half of the journey, passing by Whiterun and going up into the forests around the Throat of the World. Merill was increasingly curious about Delphine and her mysterious order, but the woman was quick to deflect any questions, saying that they had to hurry if they were to reach Kynesgrove in time.

“I’m glad you trust me,” Delphine finally said as the sky grew dark and the snow began to fall more thickly.

“I don’t trust you,” Merill told her simply, pulling a heel of bread from her bag to gnaw on. “I don’t trust anyone.”

“Then I’m glad you didn’t put an arrow through my skull,” she replied drily. “I didn’t have much to go on until I met you, and this dragon mound seems to be a step in the right direction.” They quieted for a moment as a sleepy-looking trader passed them, dozing in his furs as he steered his cart down the road. When he had passed, Delphine went on, “I heard about the dragon that was killed near Whiterun. Did you have anything to do with that?”

“I was there,” Merill replied, refusing to look at the Breton.

“Then I suppose we’ll be as best prepared as we could be,” Delphine murmured.

As the night grew older they neared Windhelm, and from there it was not long to Kynesgrove, a tiny mining village on the slopes of the eastern mountains.

“The innkeeper will be able to point us toward the burial mound,” Delphine said, pointing through the thickly falling snow at the light that hung on Kynesgrove’s inn’s porch. But as they neared the light, they were nearly overrun by a panicked woman that stumbled straight into them, breathless and hysterical.

“Turn back while you can,” she stammered, quickly regaining her footing. “It was flying overhead and the miners swore they saw murder in its eyes. It’s looking to burn Kynesgrove to ash, that one!”

“Wait –” Delphine started, but the woman continued down the road toward Windhelm, vanishing into the swirl of snow. There was a great roar that echoed in the sky overhead and Merill and Delphine exchanged glances. “Hurry,” she barked, unsheathing her blade. “We may be too late.”

Delphine led the way up the slope past Kynesgrove and up a steep slope, slipping slightly on the icy cobbles. Merill drew her bow and nocked an arrow, staring upward at the snow-choked skies and listening past the wind for another sign of the dragon’s presence.

“Get down,” Delphine hissed as the ground leveled out. They crouched behind a large boulder and Merill peered out at the clearing to see a great stone mound in the snow, marred with age. As she watched, the snow was stirred up and the great black shadow came sailing downward, stopping to drift above the mound.

“Sahloknir!” the spiked black dragon called, his deep voice echoing in the trees around the mound. “Ziil gro dovah ulse!” As Merill watched, a light like bluish steam began to rise from the stone mound, intensifying when the dragon spoke.

“Look at that thing,” Delphine whispered, her eyes wide.

“Slen tiid vo!” At these words, the very stone of the mound began to crumble, dust and rock flying out and scatting upon the snow. A great roar shook the trees and Merill saw curved wings stretching upward from the mound, as if awakening from a long sleep. The wings latched onto the ground and an enormous dragon, all hard spikes and scales, dragged itself out from the pit, shaking dust from its head and gazing up through the snow at the black dragon that had called to it.

“Alduin, thuri!” the new dragon called, swishing its great tail. “Boaan tiid vokriiha sulyksejun kruziik?”

“Geh, Sahloknir, kaali mir.” The new dragon’s scales shimmered, as if on fire, and it let out a long roar, stretching out its neck in satisfaction. “Ful, losei Dovahkiin?” the black dragon said, and as Merill watched it turned its great head straight to her, its burning eyes boring into hers even in the snow. Merill had felt the weight of those burning eyes before. “Zu’u koraav nid nol dov do hi.” Merill heard Delphine make a sound, as if just realizing that the black dragon’s eyes were trained on Merill. “You do not even know our tongue, do you?” the dragon asked, shaking his colossal spiked head in disbelief. “Such arrogance, to dare take for yourself the name of Dovah. Sahloknir, krii daar joorre.” With that, the black dragon let out a final roar and turned on its wing, pumping high into the air and disappearing into the blizzard.

The new dragon rose into the sky, opening its great jaws and breathing down a sheeting rain of ice on the boulder where they hid. Merill dove out of the way, pulling back the bowstring and letting an arrow fly. It struck Sahloknir in the thick hide of his neck, and the dragon did not seem swayed.

“Shoot at its wings,” Merill called to Delphine over the wind. “Try to ground it!” Sahloknir changed direction suddenly, breathing down on them with his icy breath, and Merill dashed toward the broken burial mound, shooting a stream of arrows as she did so. The dragon wheeled around and landed, shaking the earth, and began to move toward her faster than she would have believed possible, flame dancing in his eyes. Something told Merill to lower her bow, and she sharpened her mind, trying to focus despite the sound around her. The words came, and she threw her jaw open wide to let them free.

“FUS RO!”

Sahloknir stumbled as the force of the shout overtook him, leaving Delphine free to rush in from the side. Merill stayed back, laying arrows into the great dragon’s eyes until it threw up its head for one final scream and crumpled to the ground, its scales staring to burn with dragonfire. Delphine was crouched a short ways away, panting and wiping blood from her face. Merill slung her bow over her back and moved forward, letting the wind and the light overtake her as she felt Sahloknir’s life force funneling into hers. When the sound cleared, Delphine was still doubled over, but her eyes were on Merill, wide and disbelieving.

“Gods…Gods above,” she panted as Merill fought through the snow to her and handed her a healing potion. “So you really are…” Delphine took the potion, downing it in a swig and wiping her mouth with one arm, though her eyes stayed trained on the dragon skeleton draped over the mound. “I suppose I owe you some answers,” the Breton said, regaining her breath and straightening up. “Let’s head down to the inn, though, this blizzard’s getting fierce.”

Kynesgrove’s inn was quiet and empty, most of its occupants having fled at the sign of the enormous black dragon. But it was warm and shut off from the cold, and Merill and Delphine gladly took an empty bench beside the still-burning fire.

“I’m one of the last members of the Blades,” Delphine began quietly when they had found tankards of mead behind the bar and stripped off their snow-soaked cloaks. “Ages ago, the Blades were dragonslayers, and we served the Dragonborn, the greatest dragonslayer. For the last two hundred years, since the last Dragonborn emperor, the Blades have been searching for a purpose. Now that dragons are coming back, our purpose is clear again. We need to stop them.” Merill did not respond, but merely took another long drink of mead and stared into the crumbling logs in the fire.

“What do you know about the dragons coming back?” she asked after a while.

“Not a damn thing,” Delphine said spitefully. “I was just as surprised as you to find that black brute here.”

“I’ve seen that one before,” Merill replied quietly, keeping her gaze on the fire. “The one that spoke to me.”

“Really?” Delphine said suddenly, turning to look at her. “Where?”

“It was the one that attacked Helgen when the traitor king escaped from the Imperials.”

“You were at Helgen?” Delphine pressed, and Merill nodded once. “Interesting. Same dragon.” She shook her head angrily. “Damn it, we’re blundering around in the dark here. We need to figure out who’s behind it all.”

“I’d hazard a guess and say the dragons,” Merill murmured, but Delphine did not seem to hear.

“The Thalmor are our best lead,” Delphine went on. “If they aren’t involved, they’ll know who is. There’s no worst enemy to humankind in Tamriel. The Empire barely survived the Great War, and the Thalmor don’t intend to lose the next one.”

“Since when are the Thalmor powerful enough to summon ancient dragons?” Merill asked skeptically.

“I don’t understand how their magic works, I don’t care about this civil war. There’s a bigger war coming, and that’s what everyone needs to be prepared for.”

“Then what makes you think they’re the ones bringing the dragons back?” Merill asked sharply.

“Nothing solid,” Delphine replied, shaking her head and taking another long drink of mead. “Yet. But my gut tells me it can’t be anybody else. The Empire had captured Ulfric. The war was basically over. Then a dragon attacks, Ulfric escapes, and the war is back on. And now the dragons are attacking everywhere, indiscriminately. Skyrim is weakened, the Empire is weakened. Who else gains from that but the Thalmor?”

“There were Thalmor at the execution,” Merill said, but Delphine didn’t seem to hear, rubbing her chin thoughtfully and staring out a half-shuttered window at the falling snow. “If we could get into the Thalmor Embassy…it’s the centre of their operations in Skyrim…Problem is, that place is locked up tighter than a miser’s purse. They could teach me a few things about paranoia.”

“Then how do we get in?”

“I’m not sure yet. I’ve a few ideas, but I’ll need some time to pull things together…Meet me back in Riverwood,” she said after a moment. “If I’m not back when you get there, wait for me. I shouldn’t be long.” Delphine set her tankard down and stood up, pulling up her hood. “Keep an eye on the sky. This is only going to get worse.”