DRAGON BLOOD

Son of a dishonored hero

My father was and is, more of a legend than a man. My name is Jack. My father was what men called dragonborn, the ultimate dragonslayer. To hear most tell it, my father betrayed humankind by joining cause with the evil dragon Paarthurnax. This is not their story. This is my story, and this is where it begins.

Chapter One

In my mind's eye it was spring, and the very soil was alive with energy. I walked barefoot along a dusty path. In the blink of my mind's eye, I was standing in the doorway of my home, smiling at… The smell of smoke snapped me back to reality. Too late I realized that the soup I was stirring had begun to burn. As I turned to set the kettle on the counter I saw the disapproving visage of Master Arngeir. "Practicing the chemical process of burning, Dragon Blood?" the Greybeard elder inquired. Feeling warm in the face, I replied "I was merely… pondering the mysterious ways of The Voice." This was a flat lie and I was certain he knew. "Very well, if you cannot manage to create a simple bowl of broth, then you may go down to Ivarstead and purchase some bread and cheese." the master said flatly. The idea of going down to the village excited me, but I feigned displeasure. It wasn't hard. "The Seven Thousand Steps hurt my knees." It was the truth. Arngeir was not amused. "A man of seventeen years should not complain of his health." the now white-bearded Greybeard stated. Making a show of my unhappiness, I went to the threshold, selected a walking stick and pushed through the heavy door.

It was always bitter cold at High Hrothgar, our sanctuary on the great mountain called the throat of the world. Despite the cold that had once troubled me (the Grand Master said that my dragon blood became active when I reached manhood), I rather enjoyed my peaceful life. But I always thought that I was meant for more.

I had set out in the evening, but night came and went before I reached the bottom. Exhausted and chilled despite the fire in my veins, I walked into town and promptly curled up next to last night's watch fire near the bridge. I slept for what seemed like only seconds, and then was rudely awakened. I was fully awake and alert when the foot crashed into my ribs a second time. "On your feet you mangy rat." snarled a man's voice. Before I knew what was happening a pair of meaty hands had yanked me up and restrained me. I caught a glimpse of my assailants- a group of Stormcloak soldiers- before the leader yanked the hood of my robe down over my eyes. I let my mind go blank and withdrew into myself. By the time I had drifted back into reality, I was on the ground feeling wet and cold and weak. Something touched my side and I steeled myself for another attack, wondering why I felt so weak. Gentle hands rolled me over, and I looked into the eyes of the most beautiful living thing in all of Tamriel.

"Are you all right?" she asked with genuine concern. For a moment all I could do was stare. Asha Wispwood was a half-elf. She had the gently rounded face of a human woman with the pointed ears of an elf. Add to this red hair and pretty brown eyes, and what some saw as a half breed I saw as an angel. "I'm… okay." I finally managed to stammer. I instinctively lifted my arm and saw the cause of my weakness. One of the soldiers who had mugged me had slashed my wrist, and my lifeblood was trickling down my arm. "I'm bleeding…" I said, taking a moment to realize how stupid I sounded. Asha saw my plight and used her fingers to seal my wound. Her touch was innocent, out of concern for my life, but I still felt what was left of my blood rush to my face. "You don't look good." she said. For a moment I felt ashamed of what must be a much disheveled appearance, before I pushed the vanity out of my mind. Asha helped me to my feet, as gentle as if she was handling a bird. "You should come back to the farm with me." she said. Too weak and smitten to say no, I let her lead me by my bloody wrist…

At the farm, Asha's father bandaged my wounds while the women prepared dinner. We were halfway through the meal when I remembered why I was there. I felt for the coin pouch about my waist, and not finding it, I let out a groan. All eyes were on me as I explained that I had come to the village to buy food. After some negotiating, I was able to work out a deal to trade farm labor for produce.

Satisfied with my work, I bade my hosts farewell and started back towards High Hrothgar. The night was cold, and the steps treacherous, but I bounded up the mountain feeling like a new man. I would now be working in Ivarstead for most of the week, and what's more, I would be seeing Asha regularly.

As I reached the sanctuary, I became aware that something was wrong. Dag, the other apprentice, was waiting at the top of the steps. "Something wrong?" I inquired in a less than polite tone. "You're late." He said with a smug smile. I responded with a rude gesture. As I passed he said something that made my blood freeze. "The Grand Master demands that you speak with him." He said before slinking through the door. I wanted nothing more than to wipe that smile away. I always did hate that Argonian.

At the top of the mountain, I saw that the Grand Master had been waiting for some time. The ancient dragon Paarthurnax was covered in snow, and a watery spot showed where his hot breath ad melted the ice. "Why do you try me so?" he rumbled. "Master, I have done noth…" I began. "Your father entrusted you to my care, I raise you, and you repay me by trying to throw your life away!" he roared. "I wasn't trying to be ambushed." I retorted. "All the same, you have set in motion events which cannot be prevented, and you will soon leave this place." With those words, the great dragon launched himself into the air.

That is when my life ceased to be mundane and inconsequential. Little did I know that I would soon have greatness thrust upon me. Some say I became a hero. Others call me a villain. This is not their story. This is my story.

And it isn't over yet.