The sun shone brightly onto the streets of Solitude as the citizens walked briskly about, spreading news and gossip amongst themselves in the markets and social locales. Cyril Hraithingaar, an aspiring bard, wandered nearby a cluster of people who were chatting, and tuned in. A guard leaned over to Beirand, the blacksmith. "Say, old friend. Do you remember the Dragonborn?"
"The what?"
Cyril furrowed his brow; he recognized the name immediately. He was barely walking when it had happened, but he had lived in the time of a legend's unraveling. The tale of the mighty Dragonborn, who had slain the World-Eater Alduin in Sovngarde. His mother, a Nord woman, told him all about it when he was young. Of course, that was a very long time ago. He'd heard nothing of the legend since.
The guard grumbled some. "You're kidding me, aren't you, Beirand? You fashioned a set of Imperial armor for her yourself! She was the one who slew Ulfric Stormcloak!"
"Oh, that lass. Well, it's been almost a score since she's set foot in Solitude; you can't blame me. What about her, anyway?"
"I heard that she's gone missing." The small clique either gasped or offered looks of slight distress. The guard continued, "Yes, it's true. After her husband was killed, she left her home and never came back. I've had travelers come by from all over Tamriel, asking about her, and apparently she's nowhere to be found."
"Do you think she's dead?" a young woman asked. The guard shrugged.
"I doubt it, but I suppose it's possible. But, whatever could kill Alduin's slayer sounds like something that could be something no one can handle."
As the various people discussed the possible fates of the Dragonborn, the word began to die out and a new subject began to arise. Cyril was astonished, and stepped forward. "Hold on a minute." The group seemed confused of his entry, having not known he was eavesdropping. "This hero has suddenly vanished, and no one is looking for them?"
The guard shrugged. "Well, what can we do? The work of the Dragonborn was very dangerous-I certainly wouldn't want to go and look in some deadly ruins, just to find a corpse. I have a family to feed."
"But surely someone has gone searching, right?"
The clique was silent, looking to each other for answers. Beirand walked over to Cyril and placed an arm on his shoulder. "Look, lad. We're not adventurers. Living in the era of a hero was something we'll tell about for ages, but times pass and fates happen."
Cyril nodded. He realized that these people, though grateful for the Dragonborn's deeds, have no desire of learning what happened. He, however, wanted to find an end to this story. He pulled a small bag of Septims from his tunic and plopped them into Beirand's hand. "This is a down-payment for some good armor that I'll need. Guard, how dangerous is this path we're talking about anyway?"
The Solitude guard exhaled, leaning back against the stone wall. "Bandits, dragons, necromancers-you name it. But, she managed to overcome everything until, well, poof.You're not really considering going out and searching for her are you?"
"Maybe not her, but just clues as to what happened. I'm a bard, it's my job to record history, and this bit might get me a much better seat in the Bard College."
"You're going to get yourself killed out there, lad," Beirand said, adding with a chuckle, "Unless you're wearing my armor, that is."
By the end of the week, Cyril paid a visit to Beirand, the coin ready to pay for what he needed. It was the last of his Septims, but he was assured that there would be more to come by in time. The blacksmith was snoozing under the hood of his forge, leaving the young man to chuckle to himself. He was old, almost ready to retire, and Cyril had known him a long time. He took up an iron shield and grabbed a hammer, banging on its surface and creating a loud clang. Beirand shot up immediately, and scowled at Cyril.
"If you damage that, you'll have to pay for that too, lad!" He eased forward, groaning and taking a swig of his mead. "I suspect you're here to pick up the armor, eh?" He stood, and shuffled over to a box and heaved up a set of steel plated armor. "In fact, I'm going to tell you something, lad. This here armor is the very same set the Dragonborn herself forged and sold to me, years ago. I haven't sold it yet because of the constant need for imperial armor for the soldiers-it's all I'm ever asked for. After I heard of the slaying of Alduin, I kept it around as a sort of...well, souvenir, you could say. I fashioned it back into shape, and I figured you might like it."
Cyril was speechless. "This...this is extraordinary. H-how much do I have to pay you for this?" He feared that such a trophy was something he couldn't afford, and that this treasure would slip away. Beirand simply smiled.
"Tell you what, lad. If you promise not to get yourself killed out there, it's yours for free. The down-payment was all I needed to get it back into condition. Besides, you'll need the coin to get by out there. Not to mention, you might not scrap up as much as you do what with singing love songs to the young lasses you chance upon."
After he'd suited himself in the armor, he held the helmet under his arm, smiling widely at Beirand. "Thank you, friend. Truly, I am in your debt."
"Just come back here to Solitude when you're done," Beirand said, handing him a steel sword, "so we can all hear the entire tale of the Dragonborn." Cyril nodded, placing the helmet on his head and leaving the forge. He had enough Septims now to buy a horse, and a week's worth of food. He felt like a valiant warrior trekking through the street to the gate, catching glances of people who couldn't recognize him. As he came upon the gate, he saw the guard that brought up the entire story.
"Halt!" he shouted, jogging over to him. He could see the guard studying him. "By the Eight, is that you,Cyril?"
"Indeed it is," he replied. The guard laughed.
"So you're really going! Never thought you had it in you. What's ol' Solitude going to do without her charming bard, eh? Maybe you'll find yourself a wife out there!" He turned to the guards at the top. "Unlock the gate!" He looked back at Cyril, and his tone of voice lowered. "It's not an easy world out there, you know. There are things that will want to kill you or eat you, especially the dragons. I certainly hope you don't run into any of those wicked beasts. Even the Dragonborn's companion told us how hard it could be sometimes."
Cyril furrowed his brow. "She had a companion? Her husband?"
"No, no, not her husband. A follower, I should say. He was a Wood Elf, said he was from Riverwood. The two were almost inseparable, though. He came to Solitude alone a few years ago, but didn't say anything about the Dragonborn."
Cyril paused, and nearly gasped. "Wait, are you talking about Faendal? Faendal the Ruthless?"
"Aye. If you want to find out what happened to the Dragonborn, your best bet is to speak to him. Like I said, they were practically inseparable." The gate was now wide open, and Cyril nodded at the guard.
"Thank you," he said. "Good luck, friend."
The guard laughed. "You're the one who's going to need it! Watch the skies, traveler!"
Disclaimer: Everything here except Cyril is (c) to Bethesda Softworks, LLC. Non-profit material.
