A Dragonborn by any other name

The Soul Reveals

Gwen's deep blue eyes scoured over the scene, the watchtower, half-collapsed, the fires still about. Soon enough, she was joined by the Dunmer and a contingent of guards. She tuned out their shouts and footfalls, calling lightning to life, crackling at her fingers. She saw the guards enervously edging away from the electricity that coiled around her hands, but didn't care, heading into the ravaged tower when they did. She paid no mind to the others, who spread out, approaching the ruined tower instead. When the guard came out, yelling, she was startled, but had enough of a mind to draw back, looking towards the mountains the dragons had gone to.

The fight was short, but bloody and brutal. Most of the guards died in that first wave of fire, but the dragon was already peppered with arrows from it's first run. Twin blasts of lightning sprang from her fingers, hitting it in the sensitive wings joints, bringing it to the ground, roaring and snarling, where swords and magic finished it off. It was truly a monstrous beast, easily dwarfing the men and mer around. She approached, seeing if there was anything worth salvaging from it. In historic times, dragon armour had been highly prized for its durability after all. When her chest burned, she wasn't ready for it, clutching at the necklace where it was hidden below her dress, and dropping to her knees as the dragons flesh dissolved to embers, its soul flowing into her. She felt understanding in her mind, a word she could speak, and it would do so much for her.

“Dragonborn! She is dragonborn!” One of the guards cried, to the disdain of the dunmner housecarl. Gwen felt tears trickle from the corners of her eyes. Of course she was dragonborn. It was her birthright after all. But did it have to be revealed so soon?

“There have been no dragonborn in two centuries, since the death of the Septim line. You are all being ridiculous.” The housecarl snapped.

“The Dragonborns of old could take the souls of dragons. It's a Nordic thing, you wouldn't understand.” One of the guards snapped in return, before turning to Gwen. “Can you shout? Like the dragons do?”

Gwen stood, brushing down her skirts. “I... I can. I think.” The guards were all excited, especially the one who spoke to her.

“Will you try? Just... think of it and shout?” She chuckled, and looked up at the sky, feeling it wouldn't be good to do this at them.

“YOL!” The shout tore at her throat, but felt wonderful to release. Fire spread upwards from her mouth, and she felt the Dovah within her, its memories hissing in her mind.

“You truly are Dragonborn! The Jarl will want to hear of this!” Slowly, she nodded, and followed the guards back towards Whiterun, stumbling only slightly with a thief's reflexes as she heard the booming voice.

“DOV AH KIIN!” Looking up towards the mountain, she winced, before allowing herself to be hurried up to the keep.

The scene when she entered Dragonsreach was different to the first time. For one thing, she wasn't being glared at by the Dunmer. For another, the Jarl was staring at her. With a sigh, she walked closer, crossing her arms.

“The dragon was defeated. It is dead.”

The Jarl nodded.

“It seems once again you have done a service to Whiterun. Was there anything else though?” Seeing she couldn't get out of it, Gwen sighed, and looked around, making sure the place was secure.

“I took it's soul as dragonborn. This was no coincidence. My words cannot leave this hall.” The Jarl looked at her curiously, and many others were struck by the fact she spoke so casually of a sacred Nordic tradition. “Can you promise that to me?” Jarl Balgruuf frowned, but nodded, his curiosity overwhelming his suspicion.

Taking a breath to steady herself, Gwen began speaking again.

“What I said earlier was true. My mother is a noble of Alinor, though she hasn't been back in a long time. However, she is also Champion of Cyrodill, named as such because of her role during the Oblivion Crisis. My father stands in the Imperial City. His flesh turned to stone after fighting Mehrunes Dagon as the Avatar of Akatosh. My father's name was Martin Septim, and I am the last of the Septim line. It is why I am Dragonborn. My mother kept me from the political machinations and attempted assassinations in order to protect me, but I am the true heir to the Empire.” She thought for a moment, before giving up her 'last' secret, baring herself to the Jarl's mercy, hoping she could trust his honour. “I wear the Amulet of Kings, have since I was old enough to remember.” She pulled it out, displaying the crimson gem, repaired, with the other gems around it. “I am Dragonborn by birthright, not an accident of the gods.”