Still-Born Shout [#wattys2017]

Chapter Eleven

Sif and Shadowmere had been making great time in their travels as of late. She had left him in Ivarstead; dusk was beginning to settle across the sky as the peaks of High Hrothgar came into view. She had left Whiterun in the early afternoon.

After she had regretfully claimed yet another soul, the two brothers had taken her back to Jorrvaskr with them to speak with their leader. Kodlak. That was his name. Sif had a lot of respect for the man. From what she'd seen of the Companions, he had a great deal of patience to be their advisor.

She thought again of the dragon that had found her and the brothers in the field. First, it had threatened her, as many of them did. She remembered the phrase as well as she could. Rax wah ruus. My teeth to your neck. A typical threat among the dovah, she supposed. When it was taking its dying breath, though... She tried to remember the words. Brit grah. That's what it had said. A beautiful battle. It was honored to have been slain by her.

Alduin was sending them from Skuldafn to eliminate her, before she had the chance to eliminate him. She knew that for a fact. Half of the time, when they thought they were ambushing her, they cried out in dovahzul; they almost always revealed where they were coming from. She imagined that it was customary for dragons to announce their origin and purpose before engaging in battle with one of their own. She wasn't sure, but she was sure that they had no idea that she understood dovahzul nearly as well as they did.

She pushed along as it began to snow, and flakes got in her eyes. Her body was beginning to acclimate to the cold weather of Skyrim; she no longer needed her heavy furs. She was almost to High Hrothgar. Auroras bloomed in the northern skies, and she knew that even if she did survive the events to come, she would never return to Cyrodiil.

She thought it strange that something opened up inside of her whenever she had to do battle with a dragon. She didn't like it. It made her feel weak. She couldn't describe the feeling as anything other than regret. She didn't want to do battle with her own kind. They were her kin. She was more dragon than she was woman. Mora had said so.

"You called, Still-Born?"

Gods damn him, Sif thought to herself. I can't even think to myself without him butting in. And my name isn't Still-Born anymore. Ulfric and the Stormcloaks call me Snow-Blood.

"They may call you that, but I will always know you as Still-Born." His slow, menacing voice echoed in her head. It was as bad as Shouting indoors; the sound seemed to reverberate and amplify. Sometimes, when Mora interrupted, it made her ears pop.

"Where exactly are you going? As you amble about, Alduin is devouring the souls of your fallen Stormcloaks." When she didn't respond with a contradicting thought, Mora continued. "You can't hope to sever the bond between us. You belong to me."

What about Nocturnal? Sif thought in response. I took an oath and promised my soul to her when Karliah took Brynjolf and I to Nightingale Hall. I swore to serve her in death.

"That may be so, but your promises are as empty as your soul. You haven't walked the Pilgrim's Path to return the Skeleton Key." Sif felt the weight of the Key in her rucksack, suddenly. "There's no hope of returning it now. Nocturnal has already forgotten your oath."

I could return the Key, Sif thought. A violent piercing sensation cut just above her left ear; her eyes slammed shut and she gasped for a moment. It felt like someone had driven a dagger into the side of her skull. She opened her eyes and saw drops of blood in the snow. When she reached up to her face, her fingers came back red. Her nose was dripping.

It wasn't the first time Mora had done that. He did it quite often, actually, when she got a certain thought in her head that he disliked. It wasn't necessarily painful, but it was annoying.