The last few days of brutal travel had made one thing very clear to Rowan Mercer.
Without flight or teleportation, long-distance movement was inefficient.
He needed a flying mount.
And in this world, there was only one creature that fit that description.
A dragon.
Originally, Rowan had planned to deal with such matters after joining the College of Winterhold. A dragon mount was a long-term consideration.
Apparently, fate had decided to accelerate the schedule.
He hadn't learned the Shouts traditionally used to dominate dragons.
He didn't possess any specialized anti-dragon techniques either.
None of that concerned him.
There were many ways to tame a beast.
Physical compliance counted.
Dragons all descended from the Dragon God Akatosh. Alduin was merely the strongest among them, crowned king by raw might rather than divine decree.
That didn't mean every dragon obeyed him blindly.
Some had rebelled in ancient times.
Others betrayed him when it suited their survival.
Dragons possessed pride, but they also understood fear.
If one believed its life was truly at risk, submission became an option.
The dragon's roar outside the inn grew louder.
Rowan stood.
"Let's go see."
Avier hesitated, swallowed, then followed.
He didn't know how powerful a dragon truly was.
But he did know how powerful Rowan was.
And witnessing a dragon attack firsthand was the kind of story adventurers dined out on for the rest of their lives.
Outside, chaos ruled.
"Shoot it!"
"Get inside! Everyone inside!"
"Shields up!"
Under the frantic commands of Jarl Korir, Winterhold's guards fired arrow after arrow at a massive blue dragon circling overhead.
The arrows bounced uselessly off its scales.
Each dive claimed lives.
Each breath of freezing mist turned soldiers into ice statues.
Winterhold had no walls.
No real fortifications.
No battlemages among its guards.
Against a dragon, they were hopelessly outmatched.
Rowan knew the city itself wouldn't fall.
Not while the College of Winterhold still stood.
The mages would intervene soon.
But he didn't intend to wait.
He glanced west.
Across the ravine, the towers of the College already showed movement.
Mages were gathering.
"Time's tight," Rowan muttered.
A scream erupted to the east.
The blue dragon swooped low, seized a guard in its talons, and flung him into the air.
Rowan vanished.
The ground cracked where he had stood.
He appeared beneath the falling soldier, caught him by the shoulder, and set him safely aside.
Then he jumped again.
Straight upward.
The dragon had just begun banking for another attack when something appeared beside its head.
A human.
Rowan's hand came down like a hammer.
The strike landed against the side of the dragon's neck.
The dragon didn't even register danger.
To it, a bare hand posed no threat.
Then its frost breath cut off.
Pain exploded through its skull.
Its eyes bulged.
Its massive body lost balance and plummeted.
The impact shook the city.
Dust and ice blasted outward as the dragon cratered into the ground.
Rowan landed lightly nearby, flexing his fingers.
"Held back enough," he said quietly. "Should still be alive."
Winterhold's guards and Jarl Korir stared in stunned silence.
The creature that had slaughtered them moments earlier had been swatted out of the sky.
By one man.
Rowan dropped into the crater.
The dragon was already struggling, trying to rise.
He planted one hand on its skull and drove its head into the earth.
The ground thundered.
The dragon went limp again, dizzy and broken.
Rowan leaned closer.
"Submit," he said calmly.
"Or die."
A pressure descended.
Not magical in any conventional sense.
It felt ancient.
Absolute.
Like standing before a god who had decided to notice you.
The dragon understood.
Somewhere deep in its soul, instinct screamed that this being could destroy not only its body…
…but its very essence.
Dragons could be resurrected.
Their souls usually endured.
This presence felt different.
This presence felt final.
The blue dragon did not resist.