One paragraph at a time. Some days, two or three words at a time.

Deviating from the main quest like a mofo. Just sayin'.

Farengar Secret-Fire

"No dragon would dare attack the Reach."

The former Jarl's words echoed hollow in his memories; quickly replaced by the roar of the dragon who was circling Dragonsreach menacingly.

"No dragon, indeed," Farengar mused aloud. Despite his respect for the man, he smirked at the thought of Balgruuf being in Whiterun to witness the destruction. He could only wish for the opportunity to change his decision to remain in the city after the Stormcloak invasion, instead of leaving for the Blue Palace with the others.

Servants scurried about the fortress, rushing to secure the youngsters that wandered towards the commotion. Screams could be heard. Calls for the Dragonborn.

Yes, where is the Dragonborn? he wondered internally. Never around when she's needed, but always there to stick her nose into others' business.

He never forgave her for her part in the invasion. At points, he'd heard she led the charge through Whiterun, standing atop the broken homes and crumbling stores; calling for the head of Balgruuf.

Those could have been rumours, but Farengar preferred that version of the events. It helped him reconcile his potentially unfounded anger towards the woman. Why would he want to admit he was wrong about her?

Still, he wished she were present that day. He thought back to when he first encountered her. She had wandered into the main hall, seeking out the Jarl. She wanted to tell him of the dragon attack at Helgen. He'd scoffed initially; there were no dragons. It was the stuff of legends. A myth. An exaggeration, at best.

At any rate, he'd sent her to Bleak Falls Barrow in search of another myth. One with a higher probability of existing than an actual dragon – the Dragonstone. He'd hardly had to convince her, nor the young Nord who accompanied her. Their sideways glance and excited look at the prospect of a shared adventure was more than enough proof that if the Dragonstone existed, they would find it. He knew that excitement well. It was the same that welled up within him. He was, however, barred from exploring outside of Whiterun for such things. Jarl Balgruuf would never have allowed it.

"If there are dragons attacking Whiterun," the Jarl explained, "I will need you here, safe and continuing your research. It's far too dangerous for a Court Wizard to be traipsing about the countryside."

Farengar tried to reason with the man. He'd even suggested that a dragon could just as easily attack Dragonsreach as anywhere the mage would travel.

The Jarl shook his head and chuckled.

"No dragon would dare attack the Reach."

Farengar sighed, rejoining the present and realizing just how wrong the former Jarl had been. The dragons, it would seem, were far bolder than anyone had realized they would be. They attacked the very place that was once used to trap the great Numinex. All hearsay, of course. However, the day's events were beginning to suggest that there was a very real possibility that such history was not so farfetched.

While the roar of the dragon subsided – it must have been circling over the city – the chaos continued. The Nord mage hurried towards his quarters, hoping to pack up some of the more important items in his possession before the whole building crumbled to the ground. It might have been an amplification of the seriousness of the matter. There didn't seem to be any bricks out of place. Nothing important had fallen off the shelves. The ground shook, though. There were flames shooting through part of the Reach. That wasn't his imagination – he had felt and seen those things. But imagining Dragonsreach falling to an actual dragon? Nonsense!

Someone would stop it, wouldn't they? Someone would do something.

Someone like…

"The Dragonborn," a voice called. "She is here!"

Exactly. The Dragonborn will stop this.

At least, they could hope so.

Farengar exited the small room where he created alchemical concoctions and peered down the long chamber that made up the Great Hall. He could see the commotion at the main doors. Those remaining at the keep surrounded the small Breton woman, as she made her way towards the throne. He walked towards the main part of the hall, attempting to meet her path. As he approached her, his eyes did not fall upon the same woman he met so many fortnights prior. They did not even fall upon the woman that helped to conquer Whiterun for the Stormcloaks. She was weathered, tired, and beaten down. There was blood upon her hands and clothes. Her cheeks were tear-stained. She had been through an ordeal, and he'd no idea how she even managed to be where she needed to be, when she needed to be there.

She did not see him, despite being directly in her path. As she pushed by him, he called for her by name.

Her hesitation was evident. She paused for a moment, looking over her shoulder, but not far enough to see him.

"Marieka," he called again. This time she turned fully and faced him.

The reddened eyes were telling. Her emotional response to what she'd just endured was clear. What she'd endured, he could not tell.

"What happened to you?" he whispered hoarsely, uncertain if she could even hear her over the din.

His uncertainty was not confirmed. She closed her eyes slowly and turned back around, leaving him alone as the crowd followed. When she reached the door leading to the rear halls of the keep, she turned around; her stance caused the group following her to retreat slightly.

"Get back, all of you!" she exclaimed. "None of you need to be involved in this. It's too dangerous."

She shook her head angrily as those gathered looked at each other curiously.

"Most of you are unarmed, unprotected. And you, you're a child! I will not be responsible for more death. Leave me. Do not follow me."

Without another word, she left the main hall. The remaining individuals scoffed at her words, yet knew she was right.

Farengar felt pity for her. It was the first instance in many days when the pity did not dissipate as quickly as it came. His hatred for her waned in that moment. The realization of all she had lost in the time since she'd discovered she was Dragonborn. He was unaware of the full cost she'd paid. He assumed most did not know, or perhaps did not care to understand her troubles. Swarmed by people who sought her assistance wherever she went, just how alone was this woman? He was appreciative he'd not been in her place.

A thunderous roar filled his ears as the keep shook frightfully. It pulled him back from his thoughts to the situation at hand.

He sighed as he returned to his quarters to pack. It felt wrong; abandoning the keep while he knew this woman was risking her life for the people once more felt wrong to his core. Though, it wasn't his role to put himself in danger. He had no special powers to assist anyone in this type of situation. He glanced around the room. His eyes fell upon several of his potions and salves. With another sigh, he admitted to himself that he could, in fact, still help. With a dragon, there could be any number of injuries to attend. It wouldn't hurt to test out his improved formula for fire resistance either. He gathered a number of vials and headed towards the commotion.

As he cautiously opened the door to the Great Porch, an eerie quiet met his ears. The dragon was not visible; he was not certain if it was circling Dragonsreach, awaiting the moment to attack again, or if it had finally relented. He quickly slid through the opening and made his way along the wall. Several soldiers had surrounded another on the ground, attempting to calm the man. It was evident he had been injured, so Farengar crouched near the group.

"Where are his injuries?" the wizard asked.

One of the guards motioned towards his leg. There were no burns; just a bit of dirt on his greave. Farengar's puzzled look caused the guard to sigh loudly.

"He landed hard against the wall," he began. "The wings of that beast produce such a mighty wind."

The wizard was no healer. Not in the traditional sense. Though, he could certainly tell the difference between a break and a sprain. He fished around for a potion to ease the man's pain.

"Drink this," he instructed, handing the vial to the injured guard. "It'll help with your discomfort."

The guard obliged. Farengar began to feel the man's leg. Nothing seemed to be out of place, but he could feel the throb of the blood through his clothing. He removed the greave carefully and continued to inspect the leg. No bones protruded, though the wince the guard made as the wizard lightly squeezed near his ankle indicated he was likely bruised deeply.

"You'll be fine," he reassured the man. "Nothing is broken." Turning to the others, he instructed them to assist the man to a safer place. Where that was, he was not certain.

As two of the guards assisted the injured man away, the others returned to their posts, preparing for the inevitable return of the dragon.

Farengar navigated towards the opening to the porch, which overlooked the plains on the approach to Whiterun. He was careful to stay on the outer side of the great pillars which supported the highest ceilings. As he passed one of the supports, he caught sight of Marieka. She had been conversing with some soldiers, directing them in all directions in preparation for something. He could only assume she was hoping to deploy the ancient trap used in the stories of old. A part of him trembled with excitement, despite the fact that most of the trembling was caused by fear.

He watched as she boldly trod towards the middle of the vast porch. She stood for a moment, gathering her thoughts and a deep breath.

She called for the beast by name. The keep shuddered from the thunderous sound of the Thu'um.

"Odahviing."

The right hand of Alduin. He was dangerous, no doubt. And this Breton had summoned him.

The wizard stepped back behind the nearest pillar, eyeing the woman, but being careful not to be in sight when the dragon returned. He waited as several achingly long moments passed in relative silence. The sudden sound of rushing wind from the flapping of massive leathery wings could be heard approaching. The guards on the ground and in the lofts above prepared their ranged weapons, ready to loose bolts and arrows at a moment's notice.

Marieka slowly raised her hand, signaling the guards to stand down. She continued to look forward towards the mountains in the distance, waiting for the dragon to appear once more.

She didn't wait long. Its long neck and head appeared from below the railings of the porch, as if it had taken temporary respite on the grounds behind Dragonsreach. It hovered above the ground, rising up until it was looking down upon her. If she flinched, Farengar could not tell. His heart beat loudly in his chest; pounded in his ears. He had no idea how she was able to stand there unwaveringly as the dragon rose higher and higher until it hovered above her.

His great voiced boomed as he began to speak in the Dragon's tongue. Without hesitating, she opened her mouth and interrupted him.

"Joor zah frul."

With the effort of a whisper, the words echoed off the walls. The dragon, immediately shaken by this, squeezed his mouth shut. His body shuddered as he fought to stay in flight. His left wing twitched, followed quickly by the right. The Dragonborn retreated from her position, as the dragon was losing altitude and falling towards her. He looked confused – if a dragon could look that way. The wings continued to be increasingly useless as his tail fell to the ground, followed by his massive body.

Marieka jumped back away from Odahviing, promptly him to react by lurching towards her as much as possible in his paralytic state. The motion was enough to throw is body forward slightly.

"Now!" she cried out, causing the guards in the balconies to release the great dragon trap from its hold. The colossal wooden and steel beam descended quickly to the ground, slamming the dragon's neck and head to the floor. Guards on the ground rushed to the trap to secure it in place as Marieka slowly approached the beast.

"Odahviing," she whispered to him. He did not open his eyes immediately. The red scales around his lids quivered in defeat.

"I am shamed and humbled," he growled slowly in the common tongue, as the lids slid upwards.

She stood before him reverently.

"We have both lost much, brother."

He began to shake his head, before realizing he was far too restrained to even move so slightly.

"You are no kin to me, mortal," he spat.

"Odahviing," she continued. "It is not my intention to keep you here. But there are conditions."

He snorted in derision.

"You try my strength, and then beg for help?"

"I need to reach Alduin," she pleaded. "He will unmake the world if he is allowed to continue on this destructive path. I know you know where he is."

His eyes darted away from hers. "Alduin. He trusted me at his side. Once."

"And no longer?" she questioned. "No longer does he accept the help of his powerful kin? No, he prefers to use you for as long as you are useful and then toss you aside."

"It would seem we dov are no longer alone in our assessment of Alduin," he agreed. "We have long questioned his choices. His leadership. We are faltering because of his quest for power."

"Perhaps we can assist one another, then." She turned to the guards. "Loosen the restraints a bit. Let him move his neck."

As the guards followed her order, Odahviing stretched his neck off the ground.

"This shout," he began. "This shout that brought me to ground. This is not natural."

She shook her head. "No. The Nords of old used it once. To bring Alduin to his defeat."

"But they failed," Odahviing countered.

"Yes," she nodded. "They did fail. But I cannot."

"No, you cannot. And you were correct to approach me. You will need my help."

"Tell me where Alduin is hiding," she requested.

Odahviing stretched his body, still hindered by the great trap. The guards in the vicinity jumped to the ready, but once again, Marieka signaled for calm.

"You may know where he is located, Dovahkiin," he said. "He has gone to Sovngarde."

Gasps around the room from the primarily Nord audience were audible.

"The door is at Skuldafn, in the eastern mountains. There you will find your way to him."

She nodded silently.

"But," he interrupted her thoughts, "you will not reach Skuldafn. Not without me."

"Why?"

"Only the wings of a dovah will bring you to Skuldafn."

"I see," she replied. "And you volunteer your assistance, brother?"

This time he did not deny her addressing him as kin.

"I do," he replied. "We dov must not be complicit in Alduin's madness."

Farengar saw her brief hesitation. To make this decision. To free a dragon that had attacked a settlement, when you had it in your custody. How could anyone make such a decision?

She lowered her head and breathed deeply.

"I accept your offer, Odahviing," she said. "Has your strength yet returned?"

His eyes crossed the room, examining the soldiers and guards who surrounded him.

"I will need some moments."

"Fine," she replied. "I will gather my supplies and when I return, we shall leave."

The dragon nodded and she turned, heading for the main hall.

Farengar's curiosity usurped his terror. Before he realized what was happening, he was already under the great chains of the trap, approaching the rear of the beast with apprehension and awe. He reached his hand out to touch the scaly skin. It was cool, but much warmer than he'd ever imagined it would be. He knelt to the ground and closely examined the dragon's giant rear foot. The claws were tremendous. He'd seen dragon claws at the shops once or twice, but never attached to the beast itself. It was an experience to be treasured for the wizard. Such materials were invaluable in his research and alchemical experiments.

He heard a low rumble from behind him, turning quickly to see the dragon's gaze from beneath the large belly.

"Apologies, great…uh…Odahviing," he stuttered. "I am the Court Wizard of Whiterun, and—"

"Leave me, wizard," Odahviing demanded.

"But you see," he continued. "I am only interested in—"

The dragon's mouth opened, displaying a great flame building up in the back of his throat. Farengar could feel the heat as his breath rushed forward towards him. He closed his eyes, readying himself for the oncoming fire, but when he opened them, only smoke surrounded him.

Farengar immediately put his palms up facing the dragon as he scurried away back towards the wall near the trap's reinforcements.

It did not take long before Marieka returned to the Great Porch, weapons and supply satchels in tow.

"Release this dragon," she commanded.

With hesitation, the guards cranked the giant spools, pulling the chains to lift the trap high into the air once more. As the trap rose, Odahviing's body did as well. His size was impressive and terrifying. Still, Marieka did not flinch. She approached the side of the dragon to prepare to mount him.

"Marieka," Farengar called out. She paused and looked towards him. Her eyes were still red, but there was determination in them. He attempted to continue. "You…I mean—"

She smiled weakly, seemingly understanding his unspoken sentiments. "Wish me luck."

He nodded.

She turned back to the dragon once more and he crouched low to the ground so she could climb atop his back. The guards surrounded them as Odahviing maneuvered his body towards the opening to the porch. He began to flap his wings, gaining height with the strength of the force he produced. Farengar could see Marieka's hands gripping the dragon's scales as he began to fly forward towards the mountains. The remaining men and women watched as the dragon flew further and further towards the horizon, until the two became a blur in the clouds and disappeared completely.

"May the gods speed you to your destination, Dragonborn," Farengar mumbled to himself. "To Skuldafn. To Sovngarde. To victory."