ESV01—A Face in the Crowd
by VStarTraveler
Summary: For Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim—With time running out, the Dovahkiin recalls an event from early in his career that some might easily have overlooked but which to him ended up meaning everything. Arc 1 is complete; Arc 2 is now underway.
Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction, written totally for fun and not for profit. The various characters, places, and events mentioned remain the property of their respective owners.
Author's Note: This story is being written as a series of multi-chapter arcs covering certain quests or events in the game. Each arc will be a standalone story that can be read and understood without reading earlier arcs, but events in earlier arcs may sometimes be referenced obliquely in later arcs. As an arc is completed, the story will be marked as "Complete." If (and hopefully when!) the next arc begins, the story will revert to "In Progress" until the new arc is complete. Arcs currently planned are:
* Arc 1—A Face in the Crowd—Complete
* Arc 2—When Darkness Comes—First draft is over 2/3rds written, and Arc 2—Chapter 1 published 4/28/18
* Arc 3—Title TBA—Partly outlined, hoped for premiere in late Summer/early Fall 2018.
* Arc 4?—Well, there is an idea and a hope.
* Arc 5?—Possible idea...
Your encouragement and support in moving this story forward will be greatly appreciated.
Arc 1—A Face in the Crowd
Arc 1—Chapter 1:
I remember it clearly, that day I rushed through the Whiterun marketplace on my way to the city gate to go fight the dragon.
Almost every face in the busy marketplace expressed the same terror that I was feeling in my heart. I'd been lucky enough to escape with my life from the devastation at Helgen. Then, somehow, I made it through the barrow and recovered a stone tablet that the jarl's man felt might help us if the dragon returned, but it was when word came of the latest attack that I realized I must have used up all of my allotment of luck from the Divines and more to spare. I was standing in the group in front of the jarl with his advisors when the attack was reported. He was the picture of a leader, being quite decisive as he dispatched Irileth and her troops to go kill it. Then he invited me to accompany them.
I'd been away in the south for over fifteen years before returning to Skyrim only days before, but I remembered enough from my childhood about my Nord culture to know that one does not politely decline such an invitation when it comes from the jarl.
Therefore, with heavy, ill-fitting armor, an old sword that looked to have seen better days, and a bow that could have used a new string, I rushed from the jarl's palace, only pausing for a moment to grab an apple from the serving wench's basket as I passed by. Irileth and her squad were well ahead of me by this point, so I hurried to catch up with them.
Rushing down the steps to the marketplace, my thoughts soon focused on two points. First, I hoped to be courageous in the coming battle. Second, and increasingly more important as I continued to run, I hoped to live to be able to quickly return to the city. I very much wanted to be able to use some of the coins that the jarl's man had just given me to purchase better fitting armor that would help protect me without it rubbing and chafing so badly.
As I finally caught up and we entered the marketplace, someone came running in from Gate Street. He shouted, "The dragon is in the sky to the southwest! You can see it from the city walls!"
It was like throwing oil on a fire. Screaming and rushing about frantically, most of the people looked as frightened as I'd been during the events in Helgen just a few days before.
Then there was that one face, thin to the point of being almost gaunt, that showed no fear of dragons. Instead, she had a look of great sadness, as if facing a dragon would be no worse to her than whatever trepidations already filled her life. She didn't even seem to take notice as the guards in front of me passed her by, but she glanced up after they'd passed, perhaps thinking that was the last of us.
It was then that her big brown eyes met mine. There was no fear but there was no hope in them either. I tried to flash a brief smile as I, too, passed by her, but with the discomfort from my armor and the helmet covering part of my face, it may have looked more like one of the strange caricature masks I'd witnessed in the puppet theaters set up on certain busy corners in the Imperial City.
I was making my way out of the marketplace onto Gate Street, with the other troops again well ahead of me, when the impulse hit. I suddenly stopped and turned back. The girl was still standing there, but now she was looking down at her ragged shoes as most everyone else was fleeing to their homes and the few remaining foolhardy souls were heading toward the city wall to see if they could catch sight of the dragon for themselves.
"Hey, kid! Catch!" The apple went sailing toward her.
I turned so quickly to catch up with the guards that the helmet, which fit as poorly as the rest of the armor, blocked my peripheral vision and kept me from seeing whether she actually caught it. I thought I heard a weak "Thanks," but with the noise from the scattering crowd and my own heavy breathing, I wasn't sure if it was her or something else entirely. Moments later, I was outside the city gates where I clearly heard the heavy bar drop into place even as we gathered to listen to Irileth's short pep talk before making our way southwest to that watchtower.
In hindsight, the fight probably took every bit as long as it seemed since none of us even knew how to fight a dragon. In fact, it is even more embarrassing today than it was then (and, believe me, it was pretty bad then). I lost three arrows that day, all sailing well past the dragon to some unknown point out in the brush of the Whiterun plain. I was so excited when I saw the fourth arrow streak straight and true toward the beast. Excited, that is, until I saw it bounce off the dragon's thick hide and land in the rocks under its feet. The gigantic beast (which I later learned wasn't nearly as big as it seemed) proceeded to step on my arrow and break it into a hundred pieces.
I pause in my writing and take a drink as I look out the window across the little harbor. I can see several ships that had arrived late in the morning or perhaps shortly after noon. At least two of them are flying banners of the jarls, and the bustling activity on a third leads me to believe that it is probably another.
Unfortunately, that means that my time is limited, so I pick up my quill and dip it in the well once more...
Well, seriously, three or four pieces, at least.
My bowstring broke as I drew the next arrow, so I threw down the bow and rushed forward with my sword. I was shouting at the top of my lungs as I ran toward it, as if my paltry screams would do anything to scare or distract it.
The dragon, doubtless, would have feasted on my bones if someone hadn't gotten in a killing blow before I'd finished closing the distance to it. Unfortunately for three of the guards, they had gotten too close to either its teeth, its tail, or its streaming gouts of fire; they didn't live to deal with the embarrassment of our own ineptitude or the misplaced glory that followed as a result of us getting lucky, thank the Divines, and living. It was all I could do to keep from throwing up as I looked at their mangled bodies.
That, my grandson, is the point. Battle is fast and furious; it's dirty and ugly. If you're lucky enough to survive a fight to move forward to the next one, you may see horrible things that would almost make you wish that you hadn't lived to remember them. To learn to fight and kill and survive takes training, but sometimes it's more than that. Sometimes it has a lot to do with pure, dumb luck and being able to stomach the horrible sights instead of doubling over to vomit your guts out. Too many young warriors have been killed by more seasoned veterans while doing just that.
It was all a blur after that first dragon died, with the rush, as-if of wind and warmth, flooding over me. It was later confirmed that I had, as one of the guards suggested, absorbed the dragon's very soul. I was indeed the Dovahkiin, the Dragonborn, and thus back in Whiterun that night I was awarded a basically meaningless title, was given a servant I didn't deserve, and was assigned a mission I'd never sought and that, truly, I never wanted.
I spent the night in the jarl's residence in Dragonsreach, that high palace atop the mountain in Whiterun, but was sent on my way very early the next morning with Lydia, my new servant. It had been quite late the night before when she was assigned to me, and due to exhaustion on my part, we had barely spoken before falling asleep.
I pause once more as I remember that long-ago evening. I had been quite surprised when Lydia said, matter-of-factly, that she would sleep with me. I then was still young, barely 26 years of age, and was quite verile. While she didn't look like my usual type, she was quite attractive, in her own way. Not knowing what she expected, I agreed with an "As you wish," but then was rather disappointed when she drew her sword and curled up on the bearskin rug at the foot of my bed, pulling part of the rug over and around her.
I clean the nib of my quill as I smile; perhaps Andres doesn't need to know everything.
As we started making our way down the long flights of steps from the palace, I found Lydia to be a seemingly sullen young woman, but considering that she'd slept on the hard floor at the foot of my bed to protect me throughout the night, I didn't complain.
When we reached the marketplace on that early morn, it was mostly deserted with only a few vendors setting up their stalls. I glanced around, searching for the young girl from the afternoon before, but saw no sign of her. We were making the turn to Gate Street when I made a sudden decision.
"Lydia, hold up. I need to run in the tavern for a moment."
"Awfully early in the morning to be drinking, Thane. We need to be on our way since we have a long journey ahead."
I suppressed a laugh at the woman's seriousness. "I won't be inside but a moment. Wait here, please, and then we've got to stop at that blacksmith shop at the edge of town. I'm not walking halfway across Skyrim with this damned armor...well...it doesn't fit well."
Her lips were thin and I couldn't tell if she was trying to hold her tongue or to keep from laughing at me. Either way, I stopped just outside the door and made an exaggerated adjustment for her benefit. Like with the little girl and the apple, I couldn't see her reaction, but I clearly heard it this time. I was grinning when I entered The Bannered Mare.
I didn't know the innkeeper at the time, but I approached and said hello. "There was a little girl in the marketplace yesterday. Looked Imperial, with brown hair and eyes, wearing a green tunic over a mousy-looking skirt. She's about eight or nine years old and really thin. It looked like she had a braid in the front of her hair, but I'm not sure since it may have just been a dirty tangle. Do you know anything about her?"
Not knowing who I was, the woman frowned at me. "Why do you want to know, stranger? You related to her or something?"
"No, she just looked like she could use a good meal. Here's 20 septims. Can you see that she gets fed for the next few days until I return?"
The innkeeper paused and looked me over from head to toe. "Four days, assuming she comes around. I think the kid hangs around up around the temple, begging for coin, during the day, and she comes here most evenings for at least a little while. Carlotta in the marketplace gives her a discount on anything getting old—that she pretends is getting old, anyway—at the end of the day, and I occasionally give her some warm soup if I have any left over." She'd already secreted away the little bag without me seeing when she said, "I'll get with Carlotta and her daughter and we'll see if we can get some solid, hot grub in the kid."
"Thank you. If I'm a day or two longer, please keep feeding her. I'll pay you the balance when I get back."
The innkeeper gave me another stern look. "I don't usually extend credit because too many of your type don't ever come back." She paused again, staring at me as if looking into my soul, before continuing. "Don't let me down, son. And don't you dare ever tell anyone."
~ESV~
Author's Note:
Thank you for reading my story. If you're enjoying it, please let me know with your reviews, comments, favorites, or follows.
For those who enjoy high fantasy fiction and are looking for completed stories, I also invite you to check out my Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser series. Based on the heroic anti-heroes of Fritz Leiber (who originally coined the term "swords and sorcery"), the big barbarian and his friend the little thief were staples of fantasy magazines, books, and comic books for over 50 years. Details and suggested reading order are in my profile.