An Old Man's Coin
In the inn of Whiterun, The Bannered Mare, all was quiet. Well, as quiet as a Nordic drinking hall could be. The fire was burning, the people drinking and laughing. All was good.
News had spread that the Empire and the Stormcloaks had signed an armistice, stopping the war until these dragons were dealt with. Apparently, the Greybeards had enough of both sides bloodying the snow of Skyrim and invited them to climb the 7,000 steps to High Hrothgar.
"Come on in," The friendly bar maiden told the figure entering through the inn's door. "Just added some logs to the fire."
The figure didn't respond but looked around the inn, noticing something off. A man sitting in the back of the inn, where a certain fierce warrior used to preside. He looked old, or at least older than everyone else in the inn. His hair was white, his skin pale, probably a Nord, and he looked lonely, very lonely. So, the figure took it upon themselves to meet this new face.
Walking up to the man, the figure, noticed his armor, an Imperial Legion set. Unmistakable, since the red skirt, and the foreign plating gives it away. But, that was not the defining feature.
"Ah, Hello, they call me Zurin," The old man's blue eyes looked up at the figure. "What brings you to the Bannered Mare?"
"Zurin?" The figure asked the Nord about his unusual name.
"Zurin. Yup, That's me."
The old man gestured for the figure to sit and have a drink with him.
"This is a nice place," Zurin looked around the inn, smiling about something. "Why are you here?"
"I am the Dragonborn," The figure proudly stated. "I am off to confront Alduin at his stronghold."
"How lucky it is for someone like me, to run into someone like you?" Zurin said, with an almost contagious smile. "Some old washed up Imperial Battlemage is talking to The Last Dragonborn? Now that is something to drink too."
He raised his mug to the figures own, waiting for them to clink it together. The figure could only oblige the old man's request. He was nothing if not enthusiastic. Sharing another swig, Zurin wiped his mouth and continued his dialogue.
"Alduin you say? That old dragon is the one causing all this ruckus? Well, who am I to call that dragon old? I mean have you looked at me?" Zurin gestured toward himself. "I'm practically older than the poor old emperor! Since I'm old, I can't do the things I long for. Like the Battlemage days of my youth..."
The old man trailed off, almost staring off into space. With a blink of his eyes and a flinch of his head, he snapped back into reality.
"Say," Zurin said, reaching into his satchel and pulling out an old septim, a really old septim. "Would you do me a favor, and take this with you? It's an old coin, even older than I am. Its brought me more luck over the years than any sword or horse did. It's a token of my youthful days... Would you do that? For an old man?
The figure thought about it, their mother always told them not to accept gifts from strangers. But, this was no stranger, this was Zurin, the Imperial Battlemage. A good drinking buddy, and a veteran. He seemed trustworthy, and hey, why not take a lucky coin?
"I'll take your coin to Skuldafn with me."
"That's very generous of you," He handed them the coin, grinning with that same smile. "I suppose I don't need it anymore, and I would like to pass it on to another generation of Heroes. A Hero that can do more than I can... Say... You look familiar. Are we related by chance?"
"I-" The figure was quickly cut off.
"Eh, it doesn't really matter, now does it? We are here and we are talking. That's all that matters. Maybe there is a thing called fate, changing the destiny of us mortals... But, hey, why should we care? What has fate ever done for us recently?"
The figure took in his words, soaking them in like a sponge. Paarthurnax spoke similarly, except Zurin made quick remarks. Thinking over Zurin's words, they remembered his comment on the Emperor.
"Poor Old Emperor?" The figure asked with a questioning tone.
"Ah, Titus Mede II... If anyone should be on the Ruby Throne, it should be him. No matter the reasoning, there is no other man on Nirn I would rather have run the Empire... But all good things must come to an end. He's old, much like all good emperor's, he will die. Some say Ulfric would be a better leader, maybe... But he isn't the Emperor, much less the High King... But, don't take that as contempt for Ulfric. He is a True Nord, through and through, unlike what some of these Jarls would say."
He thought over his words for a few seconds, before taking another drink of his mug and continuing his rant.
"Maybe the Empire should let Skyrim free," Zurin thought aloud. "The Empire is a fractured mess, not even a half of its glory. And banning the worship of Talos? That was a punch in the gut, no matter the reasons... But I keep thinking back to my earlier words to a previous hero and think. Maybe it's time I get some new ideas, instead of leaving it up to you young folk."
"Maybe after you're done up there," Zurin pointed up into the sky. "I'll introduce you to a couple of my other drinking buddies. I"m sure they'd love to speak with you. Hell, maybe you could even join our group... Oh, but would you look at the time. I've kept you for longer than I should've, get up there and knock 'em dead."
The figure smiled at the words of encouragement and stood up from their chair. Zurin was right, they had wasted enough time together, and Jarl Balgfuuf is probably waiting for the Legendary Hero. The figure made a few steps but stood still by another few words from Zurin.
"Walk with Shor, Ysmir."
Turning back the figure remained confused. No-one was sitting there, the chair was empty. No mug, no plate of food, nothing. This made the figure reach into their satchel and find the coin. Surprisingly it remained, unlike the rest of Zurin's items, they could only stare down at it.
Then the figure looked up from the coin, clenching it in their hand. For now, Alduin's hours were numbered.
And The Wheel Turned, Upon The Last Dragonborn.