PART 4: ENTER THE DRAGONBORN

The sun was well into its path to evening as Breanna dismounted at the stables before the city. The tallest heights of Dragonsreach had grown as they had approached, casting ever-lengthening shadows from the walls and watchtowers.

Lydia handed Jet's reins to a tall Nord that reminded Breanna of her father. "Here you are, Skulvar," Lydia said, giving the man a small purse of Septims. "Take good care of her."

"Of course, Housecarl," he replied. "Her mane will shine like the sun next time you see her." Lydia gave her warhorses head a gentle touch and then the two of them walked towards the large stone archway, manned by town guard. As they walked, Breanna caught the scent of something musky and heavily spiced mixed the smell of rose petals and cooking meat. There were elements to the combination that were repulsive, but the effect was exotic, when taken together.

"The Khajit caravans camp down there," Lydia said as if in response, pointing to a spot below the battlements. The glow of distant campfires danced there. The two of them passed through the arch without challenge, save for the guards waving down at Lydia, who waved back. Surely they knew her. Surely everyone knew her here.

They passed over several small bridges and woodworks which wound around until at last the massive doors of the city proper stood before them both. Lydia didn't break stride as they moved onto the streets. They went through a market of sorts, with the merchants winding down from the day as the sun dipped lower in the sky.

Then there were stairs, lots of stairs, which took her past a beautiful tree sprouting lavender blossoms, and then a long trek up stone steps overlooking streams of flowing water. When they finally reached the top, Breanna felt a little out of breath.

"Just a little farther now," Lydia said, giving her a helping hand. "We're almost there.

They crossed the bridge to the carved wooden doors of Dragonreach, the home of the Jarl of Whiterun, Breanna's sworn lord. At Lydia's approach, the guards snapped to attention and opened the doors into a magnificent golden hall. The highest rafters were dizzyingly high above Breanna's head as they entered. There were yet more stairs, flanked on either side with thick pillars of carved wood, which lead into the feast chamber. In the middle was large fire pit, and to either side were two long trestle tables with fine silver plates, goblets and candlesticks. A great many people were here, feasting, laughing, and talking amongst themselves.

Beyond that, another short staircase led to an upper level and the Jarl's throne, which sat below a gigantic dragon skull, its maw open in a silent roar. She couldn't see anyone sitting on the throne for another small crowd of people clustered around it. Imperials, both men and women, in fine but modest clothes mixed with hulking Nords in leathers and skins. A few people in hooded robes made it impossible to tell if they were even human. Breanna saw a muscular elven woman with ashen grey skin and gleaming red eyes among them, though wound tight as a bowstring. She looked fearsome, in many ways like Lydia.

"Up here," Lydia said, guiding her up the steps towards the throne. As they approached, a particularly huge Nord turned around towards them and opened his arms in a gesture of welcome to them both. It felt as though Breanna recognized him from Heljarchen Hall. Few men, even Nords, were that that tall, that packed with rippling muscle.

That must be him, she thought, and her breath caught in her chest. He was ruggedly handsome, with the strong features of a hero. Everything from his scaled armor to the red war paint on his face, to his beard, which was pulled tight like a pony tail for his chin, looked strong, savage.

Breanna stepped forward and took a knee before him, "Hail, Dovahkiin, Dragon of the North!"

Despite the din of the crowd, it seemed as though her words suddenly echoed in the chamber, and the crowd stopped talking. They turned towards her with looks of confusion. Even the Dragonborn looked to Lydia and raised an eyebrow, then looked down at her.

That's when things began to shift in Breanna's mind. Details didn't add up. The man she had spied on before was perhaps even thicker around the arms and chest than this man, but was somewhat shorter. The color of his beard had not been so lightly colored, and the greatsword strapped across his back was not the same. Doubt began to circle in her mind.

"You give me great credit, little one," the giant said. "But…"

"I think you're looking for me," a voice said from the crowd. Breanna, still on one knee, turned her head to see the Imperials step forward. One was middle-aged and bald, but pristine in his dress. The other one, who had clearly spoken just then, was a young woman with dark brown hair done up in thick braids around her temples.

Breanna got to her feet. This couldn't be right. This woman was younger even than Mother! Middle-height and slender of waist, was this the Slayer of Alduin, the Savior of Tamriel? But just as before, details started to align in her mind in the space of a heartbeat.

The woman has eyes of such light blue as to be almost white, which gave her stare the look of a statue. Her skin had a reddish tinge to it, not quite as pronounced as in a Redguard, but enough to tint her skin dusky like a light sunburn. Thought she was an Imperial by her dress and elegant bearing, the shape of her eyes and nose looked distinctively Nordic, while the shape of her jaw and the fullness of her lips seemed almost Breton. The way she stood spoke of strength, too. Father had told her how to spot a warrior and there was something about the set of her shoulders, the way she stood that told the tale, though she appeared to carry no weapon at her hip. Her hands were strong and lined, as though from great toil, like a carpenter or stonecutter, though her clothes spoke of coin.

"You..you …are the…" Breanna's voice deserted her. The Dragonborn is a woman, she thought. It flew in the face of all the men's talk of who and what the Dragonborn represented, but just then it filled her with joy. The Dragonborn is a woman!

"Yes, that's me," she said, with a beautiful smile. "You were expecting someone else?"

"No, no…it's just that I saw…someone," Breanna said sputtering, but the woman's smile deepened and Breanna knew she was only joking.

"It's alright," the Dovahkiin said. "Most people think I'm a man…until they meet me." She winked. "It gives first impressions a certain zest to them." She looked up at Lydia.

"Success?" she asked, and Lydia nodded.

"And a new friend," Lydia said. "And one who has been bursting at the seams to meet you."

"Indeed? And does this new friend have a name?" the Dragonborn asked, turning to Breanna.

"B-b-breanna, milady," she said. This was her. Really her. The hero who had defined her life, the living legend, the demi-goddess and patron of all of Skyrim, right here! And yet she was so friendly, so pretty and refined. Could it truly be?

"They call me Ysmir, as I'm sure you've heard," the Dragonborn replied. "But amongst friends, I go by the name my mother gave me – Numidia. I would like it very much if you would call me that, Breanna."

"You were named after the Brass Tower, weren't you?" Breanna asked, recognizing the feminine form of the name. "The one that Tiber Septim used to unite the Empire."

"Well," Numidia said, glancing at Lydia. "You're a clever one, aren't you?"

"We should speak in private," Lydia said in a low voice. Numidia turned to the assembled guests and gave a sharp curtsy. "Please excuse me, Jarl. I won't be long." A tall man with long blonde hair and a jeweled diadem stepped closer. He was middle aged, but his long limbs were still leanly muscular. The man laughed, and his voice reminded Breanna of Father's.

"Of course, my Thane," he said. "Far be it for me to come between the dragon and her heart, after you've been parted. But when you're done, I'd like to meet this young lady who thinks my brother is the Dragonborn."

Jarl Balgruuf the Greater turned to look at Breanna. His face was kind and his green eyes danced. "You know there'll be no living with him now, right?" Everyone laughed, including the man in question, who raised his drinking horn high.

Lydia led them up the wooden staircase to the right of the throne. (Breanna wondered how the nobles dealt with so many stairs in their world.) They emerged onto a balcony that overlooked the main hall, but it was broad and only a single guard stood there in vigil.

"Go on, please join the festivities," Numidia said to him. Breanna couldn't see his face behind his helmet, but guessed he was smiling broadly.

"I'll raise one in your honor, Dovahkiin, thank you."

A moment later and they were alone. Numidia sat down on a bench. "So?" she asked.

Lydia withdrew the book from her pack and handed it over. The Dragonborn's eyes glittered like gemstones when she saw it, and that smile, never far from her expression dawned like the sun on a clear morning.

"You found it! Thank you, love. I thought I had lost it close to the Hall."

"There's something else," Lydia said, gesturing to Breanna. "The girl can read it."

Numidia had been leafing through the pages, as though reacquainting herself with an old friend, but she stopped and closed the book, looking directly at Breanna.

"Is that so?"

"I'm reeealy sorry," Breanna said, looking at her shoes. She had been dreading this moment. "I didn't read much of it. I didn't know what it was at first, but when I did, I put it down. I didn't want to hurt your feelings by reading something of yours that was private. Please forgive me."

Numidia raised Breanna's chin to look her in the eye. There was such tenderness in her expression. "You did that for me?"

"Uh-huh," Breanna said, now close to tears. "You're the Dragonborn. You're my hero."

Numidia reached over slowly and drew Breanna into an embrace, and Breanna clung to her in return. Yet something happened as her hands wrapped around the Dragonborn's neck. Breanna felt a jolt, and suddenly found herself standing before a large stone gateway facing outward. He she had just seen it on her way into Whiterun, but in the reverse direction.

She seemed taller, somehow, and dressed in wickedly shaped red and black armor that she recognized from her time in the court of Quagmire. A glow flickered around her helmet that was orange like flame. The same energy flowed down her arms, blue like ice, but returning to orange around her claw-like gauntlets where they formed horned dragon heads.

She felt strong, stronger than the mountains, and something told her that she would never be tired. She looked through the gates at the enormous host that faced her, many bearing shields emblazoned with the bear of Windhelm, gold on blue. Fire streaked across the sky from siege engines casting destruction over the walls. A need filled her to destroy those infernal machines, but a greater need to defend the gate seemed to stop her from tearing a streak directly there.

Breanna looked down and found that she carried a golden mace in her left hand and a war axe made of black metal in her left hand, which itself seemed glow with a dim purple aura. The host came at her and Breanna felt herself smile.

"STORM-WRATH-LIGHTNING!" she heard herself say, and thunder seemed to resonate in her voice. The bright sun overhead disappeared, replaced by a howling gale of wind and rain. Lightning crackled in the sky, and even reached own with the blue-purple fork to claim a man rushing at her with a bear skin headdress. And yet it seemed as though the wind and rain did not touch her, as though the storm itself bent to her purpose and will.

Breanna closed into the mass, and the killing began, seldom requiring more than a single blow to fell an enemy. Each time her mace landed, shields shattered and bone cracked. When her axe struck home, it came away with wisps of lavender energy that seemed to flow into her. They could not stand against her, Breanna was sure, but there were too many of them. Already some had sought to bypass her, and yet more rushed towards the gates. She felt the power surge within her.

"SNOW-HUNTER-WING!" she cried to the air. She heard her own thoughts echo: Hear my voice and come forth! I summon you in my time of need!"

A roar split the sky in answer, and a winged shadow passed over the battlefield…

And that's when she broke contact with the Dragonborn, and the strange spell was broken. Numidia looked at her quizzically.

"Did you feel that?" she asked.

"Yes. I-I saw you at Whiterun's gates, fighting the Stormcloaks. You…you summoned a dragon, and I felt him answer your call."

Numidia looked up at Lydia, then back to Breanna. "Well, you must be a special little girl to read me like that. My mental wards and bulwarks usually make something like that impossible. And yet I can see by the look on your face that you did not mean to do this; it was as much of a surprise to you as it was to me. I take it that Lydia brought you are here to join my children?"

"The Children of the Dragon, yes," Breanna said. "If that's okay, I mean. Lydia said you might help me find out why I'm…different."

Numidia sat back on the cushioned bench and folded her hands in her lap, regarding the little girl. "You are certainly a mystery, Breanna. A challenge, to be sure." The Dragonborn smiled again and it felt like the world was new. "I love a challenge. It will not be without great effort, but I think I can help you hone your gifts, to explore their limitations and find ways to control them. Besides that, I can teach you how to fight, how to move, and mostly importantly, how to think. There is one thing, though."

"What is it?" Breanna's heart trembled. Please, no! Please don't send me away after all this. Not you. Anyone but you. "I'll do anything."

"The Children of the Dragon is not just a name, Breanna," Numidia said. "I take a personal responsibility for the well-being of each boy and girl that comes into my care. In that sense, you become my child, and I your mother. But the reverse is true. I expect my children to treat each other well, as though related by blood, regardless of differences in race, religion, or social standing. I also expect you to conduct yourself well in all matters, whether in the heat of battle, or at the supper table of a Jarl. You will represent me as much I represent you. Can you do that for me?"

Breanna felt her lungs shudder involuntarily, and tears began rolling down her cheeks. Not of sadness, no, but for the acceptance being offered so openly to her. It was everything she could have dreamed of and more. It was really happening.

"Uh-huh," she nodded, unable to say more that. Numidia leaned forward and swept her into another embrace, kissing her lightly on the top her head. "Then welcome to the family…my daughter."

Breanna wasn't sure how long it lasted, but when they parted, the Dragonborn beamed at her. "Now, let's go introduce you properly to the Jarl," she said, offering her hand. "He'll want to meet the newest member of my family."