I haven't written a fic in a long time and I haven't written in the Elder Scrolls verse, ever, so please be kind :) Just a quick mention, I have used Eres121493's layout when it comes to dragon language translation lay out, etc, just because i liked the way it looked and the way it was done - so credit to her!


The frozen shores of the Sea of Ghosts spread out before him like blood that had been spilled over stone. They were dark, uninviting, and the rolling waves beyond seemed to stretch into Oblivion. The wind whipped at him relentlessly but he seemed to pay it no mind, his body covered in a thick layer of black armour and his face hidden beneath a hood and cowl. His hands were light on his reins, the horse under him picked its way across the snow and ice with practiced care. The Nord let it find its own way. The tell-tale signs of tiredness pricked at the corner of his eyes, crept up on him and made his bones ache. Soon the long-awaited lights of Winterhold would loom out of the dusk and he would welcome the sight greatly. It felt like ages since he had last slept, never mind in a proper bed in an inn, with a tankard of mead in his hand.

Night was falling especially quickly and soon the horse would be finding its way by the light of the sky. This far North, the velvety blanket that fell over Skyrim would rapidly be lit up by a dancing swirl of emerald green, turquoise, and gold – a spectacle that would be cause to stop any weary traveller and make them gaze up in awe. The Nord, however, had seen it all a thousand times from every corner of this land and the sight of these colours only urged him to kick his horse on faster.

The beast beneath him suddenly shuddered and its hind hooves dug into the ground as it slid to a stop. Ears pinned flat to its head, the horse snorted and side stepped across the snow, nostrils flaring. The Nord was dragged from his thoughts of a warm hearth and he narrowed his eyes as he held the reins tight in one hand, the other wrapping around the hilt of his sword.

'Easy.' He murmured. The horses' ears flickered back towards him in response but it stayed tense, eyes rolling. The great white expanse all around them was clear and still. The only sound was the gentle lapping of the sea against the shore, the flurry of snow through the air as it began to fall. Everything was still. 'Laas.'

Still, nothing.

The Nord grunted in annoyance and squeezed his horse's sides to urge it onwards. As he did, he cast a glance downwards to take up his reins once more and that was when he saw it. Directly beneath them, down under the thick ice and further still into the frozen depths, he saw the faint red pulsing of a lifeform. It was huge – stretching at least five more metres each way from where he stood. The last seconds of the shout faded away and then he was plunged back into darkness as the life form disappeared. Perhaps it would have been wiser to carry on, quietly, and try not to awaken whatever seemed to be living down there under the sea. The Nord was already returning to civilization after being sent to delve deep into Dwemer ruins. He was tired, ill-equipped, and is his body took any more hammerings he feared he wouldn't survive much longer. However, it seemed he wasn't going to be given a choice on this one as the frozen water began to strain and groan as if a great pressure was being put upon it.

The horse whinnied in panic and reared up onto its hind legs. It caught him unaware and he was thrown from its back. He landed in a roll and he unsheathed his sword as he jumped to his feet, his stance low and his body tense. Behind him the horse had disappeared into the snow that had started to fall thick and fast but in front of him the ice had begun to crack and shudder. A silence fell over the sea like a weight and for a few heart stopping seconds, nothing happened.

The dragon burst through the ice in a whirlwind of water and snow. It launched itself twenty feet into the air before it started to fall back down onto the snowy banks where it crashed and slid along the shore. It lay still. The Nord stared across at it, his chest heaving, and still the creature didn't move. It was small, the smallest dragon he had ever come across, and its scales were such a dark blue that they were almost black. The horns that protruded from its skull were twisted and they lay long down its spiked neck. He approached it cautiously, although he could already tell the thing was weak. God's knew how long it had been down there in the water. He shifted his sword. Soon it wouldn't matter, soon it would be dead and its soul would be his.


From the very beginning all she knew, all she could remember, had been cold. It seemed to shroud and taint her every memory of being. The bitter chill of ice and snow cutting into her flesh, settling into her bones and spreading through her blood like the great White River that carved itself across the plains of Skyrim. It was all she could feel now as she awoke with a start and gasped for air, an unexpected rush of cold wind was sucked into her lungs and she sat up so suddenly that her small body was thrown forwards onto the ice. She slid ten feet before she came to a halt, her fingers scrabbling at the mirrored surface beneath her. She coughed and spluttered, spots of blood landing before her as she wretched onto the ground. Tears sprung at the back of her eyes and threatened to spill out onto pale cheeks but they froze on the edge of her eyelids before they could make the fall. Her hands were shaking as she planted them before her and wrists, that looked too small to be bearing her weight, were ringed with bruises of deep purple and navy.

The girl stared down at her hands. Her gaze drifted up frail arms, across her chest, before it slid down onto the shadowy ice before her and her breaths heaved at the face staring back up. Great big eyes of the darkest blue pierced into her own and she could only bear to look at them for a few seconds before she threw herself to the side. Her stomach rolled and heaved painfully as a mixture of vomit and blood threw itself up onto the solid sea before her.

This wasn't right. This couldn't be.

Panic coursed through her veins and she stood, suddenly, but she wasn't used to these strange limbs beneath her. She took a step forward before they folded underneath her and her knees smashed against the ice. She cried out in pain and frustration and slammed her fist down. The ice was thick and stayed firm and fast. Thin cuts sliced into her knuckles, blood staining the glass ground before her.

It had been so long since she had felt her own breath in the air. Felt the firm ground against her feet. But it wasn't supposed to happen this way. Not like this.

She attempted to stand again. Slowly, this time, she straightened her body out and stood still swaying in the cold wind. The freezing gusts whipped around her naked body, sucking the very life out of her and even the ebony locks that fell down her back didn't offer any protection. Heart hammering against her ribs, she took a step forward and immediately the muscles in her legs screamed at her to stop. She didn't know how to work this body. It was so weak, so fragile, and she shrieked in frustration but her cries were lost in the snow.

'Hello?'

The voice carried through the air and she spun on the spot, as best she could, almost toppling back down in the process. Dark azure eyes glared fiercely up at the figure who emerged from the blizzard and her lip curled in disgust, a snarl ripping through her throat. The man in front of her was watching her with a concerned expression upon his face. His sword hung loosely by his side and he was favouring his arm – she could recall the coppery taste of his blood on her tongue.

He was speaking again, she realised, but with the wind and their strange language that she had never bothered to learn, she could barely make out what he was saying. '-careful, there's a dragon round here.'

'Hi mey! ['You fool!'] She hissed.

The Nord's eyes changed instantly at her words. The last thing he had expected was for the young girl in front of him to speak to him in Dragon Language, in Dovahzul. Of course, he had had his suspicions when the dragon had suddenly disappeared and this naked waif had appeared seemingly out of thin air. But he hadn't been able to believe it or didn't want to believe it. Until it was standing right in front of him and spitting insults in an ancient tongue.

'You,' his words nearly stammered over each other, 'you're the dragon?' The sword twitched at his side as he went to raise it, instinct telling him to end this creature's life. The movement didn't go unnoticed by the girl and she growled again. She lurched forwards but her new legs failed her and she slipped on the frost, the heavy crack of bone on ice causing her to wince.

'Krii zu'u nu, jul.' ['Kill me now, man.'] She groaned, not looking up.

Her head hung low between her shoulders and her arms were shaking where she held herself up. The Nord's gaze scanned over the rosettes of bruises that adorned her body, how each bump of her spine could be seen beneath her pale skin. The more he looked at her the more he realised he would never be able to end this girl's life. Not like this, anyway. He sighed and sheathed his sword.

What in the Gods was he meant to do now?