Hey all, longest chapter yet. Just wrapping things up and setting up the plot for Tirane's next journey.
Hope you enjoy!
"I saw it with my own eyes."
"I'm not doubting your word, Lydia. Just that you may have been mistaken with what you saw."
"I am no fool," she answered harshly. "If that wasn't a dragon's soul, then I don't know what is."
Tirane heard footsteps. He could hear voices, and see blackness, but barely had strength to open his eyes. He continued relaxing in his trance-like state, listening to the conversation as if it was a silly dream.
"And the boy absorbed it?"
"There would have been more witnesses if most hadn't turned tail and ran. I'm telling you, he is the Dragonborn, even if Irileth doesn't want to admit it!"
"I have great reason to trust Irileth. If she didn't see it, I won't deny it happened, but I sure have plenty reason to doubt it."
"So it's my word over hers!"
"Lydia…"
"…I apologize, my Jarl." Her voice softened. "But we should investigate deeper into this. If he is Dragonborn, he'll be of great use."
"Against a dragon that's already dead?!" the Jarl snapped. "But the Stormcloaks may want him, if what you say is true. The Imperial Army will seek him as well, even if he was their criminal."
"I implore you, my Jarl. As long as you give him the reward of Whiterun, you can gain his loyalty first before he thinks about the war. Make him Thane, give him a home here, and repay him for his bravery today. And if he is Dragonborn, you will thank me a hundred times. It's all for Whiterun."
"Yes… I do agree with you. But I want Farengar to find out more about the Dragonborn first. I need to see if this is true. We could test the boy. See if he is what you claim to be."
If they said any more, Tirane did not hear, as he faded into unconsciousness once again.
He awoke later with a clearer head and lighter eyes. The bed was soft-feathered and he was completely relaxed, until he moved. His head seared with a hot pain and his arm ached. His back also crippled in great pain and his fingers still nipped and stung.
Everything was bandaged tightly, however, and a lot of the bruises and scrapes he had also acquired didn't do much to unnerve him. He tried to sit up a little to have a better view of his surroundings.
He almost jumped when he saw Lydia sitting beside his bed, her head resting against a table, and heard her soft breath as she slept. Reaching with his good arm, he nudged her shoulder, calling her name softly.
She murmured and awoke, staring at him with proud amazed eyes. "You're awake," she said.
He nodded painfully in response. He didn't move his head much.
"We all owe you our lives. That dragon would have defeated us all and picked off what was left of us if it wasn't for you."
He stared at her. His sore head didn't make him in the mood for conversation or gratitude so he wasn't sure what to say. "I need to speak to the Jarl."
She looked a little taken aback. "Of course. He's been visiting. We need to tell you something too. Or rather, we need you to explain something to us."
He nodded slightly in response and she left.
Tirane was left alone with his thoughts for a short moment. He assumed what they wanted to ask him about, but he was hoping for some explanation from their end as well. What happened to him was surreal, and to him, it felt like a dream, although undeniably real. But he would find it hard to explain to them what happened and make sense of it.
Jarl Balgruuf entered with Lydia by his side. "Good to see you awake, Tirane."
He attempted a half-smile as they both sat. He had more pressing matters on his mind. "Before you say anything else, I wanted to let you know that we still have a dragon problem."
The Jarl's face went white, but it quickly changed to scepticism. "What are you talking about? The dragon is dead."
"Yes. That dragon. That dragon was not the same one that attacked Helgen." He winced a little with the pain, and tried to stop moving his head as much.
The Jarl seemed to process the information for a moment while a worrying crease appeared on Lydia's brow. "Explain," he demanded.
"The dragon at Helgen was bigger and fiercer; believe me. Hadvar will tell you the same thing. The one at Helgen was also black-coloured. Lydia will tell you the one we fought was grey."
The Jarl glanced at Lydia for confirmation, and she nodded gravely.
"I don't know how the dragons are returning, but we can assume for now there's more than one."
"Aye, you're right there. And this makes this matter a lot more serious. More so than the civil war," Balgruuf said. "We must not relax our position. Other holds must be notified."
"If there are many dragons out there, chances are they already know," Tirane proposed. "Now, you wanted to ask me something?"
The Jarl's eyes flickered to Tirane in curiosity and wonder while Lydia wore a plain look. "Lydia here, and your friend Hadvar, both claim that you absorbed the dragon's soul. Is that correct?"
He couldn't keep the surprise off his face. He knew something had happened, but he would never assume this. "It's hard to explain," he stuttered.
"Just tell us what happened, the best you can," Lydia said, touching him ever so slightly on his arm then recoiling again.
"I saw… I saw the dragon die and I thought it was over. And then… I'd like to point out that I hurt my head pretty badly at this time."
The Jarl nodded and gestured for him to continue.
"I saw an image of the dragon flying towards me. It looked so real, but ethereal at the same time; I would've run if I had the strength. But all of a sudden it faded away. I can't remember much of what happened next, but I was somewhere else. I felt like a different person. I suddenly knew all these things; I could feel power rushing inside me. But then they were lost to me, and I awoke to fall unconscious again seconds later."
"Is this the first time you've experienced this?" the Jarl asked.
"Yes," he answered. He thought that much was obvious.
The Jarl stood. "I must speak with Farengar."
"Do you know what happened?!" Tirane asked him quickly.
"Yes and no. Lydia can tell you what you need to know, but for now, I must leave." And without another word, he was gone.
Tirane glanced to where Lydia was sitting. "So? What happened?"
She smiled. "I'm not as suspicious as the Jarl. What I'm about to tell you I believe it without a doubt. You're Dragonborn."
He was in such a mood that laughter almost came to his lips. But Lydia's serious stare convinced him otherwise. There must be some other explanation. To be Dragonborn was once to be the Emperor of Tamriel. Why would this blessing fall upon him?
"I don't think so," he replied, honestly. Averting his gaze, he laid his head back.
"Hadvar, me and two other men witnessed it. That wasn't some kind of… hallucination. It was real, Tirane."
"Then it was something else. I'm not Dragonborn," he laughed.
"It might sound preposterous to you, but we can find out for sure."
He paused for a moment. "How?"
"High Hrothgar. Where the Greybeards live. If you can learn shouts better than those old men up there, I'm sure they can tell you for sure."
"The Greybeards?" Tirane asked.
"Masters of the Voice. They've trained for years in seclusion. I've heard some can't even speak without shaking the earth below. But they'll be able to tell you," she assured.
"And then what? I'm going to fight dragons and save the world?" He looked away from her again. "And what if I get there and I'm not Dragonborn? Even more bad luck."
Lydia sighed and shook her head slowly. "I thought there was more to you. I can't believe you're in denial about such a thing. Do you really think if you're Dragonborn, it won't make a difference? It is a blessing from Akatosh and you have been chosen to save us, just as the dragons are coming back. It's all linked. You can't ignore it," she urged.
He considered it for a moment. "Where is High Hrothgar?"
"Not far, in the scheme of things. I mean, we could accompany you to Ivarstead, and then climb the mountain."
"Climb?!"
"There are steps," she quickly assured him. "But the path is sometimes dangerous."
"Fine. We'll go to Ivarstead and I'll meet with them. And we can put this Dragonborn theory to rest."
"Yes, we will," she agreed with a smile. "And you might find out more about yourself along the way." She stood. "For now, rest while you can. The journey will be tiring so we will go when you're ready."
She was just about to leave when Tirane cleared his throat. "You saved my life, you know," he told her. "With your magic. The dragon was about to knock the tower down, and you distracted him."
She gave a hint of a smile. "And you saved mine."
"Where did you learn that?" he asked, with a certain amount of interest.
"A mage called Wuunferth taught me years ago. I'm not brilliant at it, but Farengar keeps me right."
The next few days Tirane mostly spent sleeping and receiving occasional visits from different people. He wished he could have a walk around Dragonsreach, but he was advised to let his back heal more first. Hadvar visited shortly after Lydia left that same day, amazed at what happened to him. Tirane didn't feel like talking much so he kept his doubt to himself and nodded along. Hadvar also let him know he was accompanying him to Ivarstead which he was a little grateful for.
Farengar, the court wizard visited the next day, finding out more about him and asking him the same questions about his vision. He even asked if he could shout at all like the Greybeards and Tirane explained that he didn't even know who they were at first. He seemed an amiable man but Tirane didn't believe he cared much about his health or his well-being.
Irileth even visited him, much to his surprise. It was a rather conflicted conversation, although he didn't say much. She warned him what she would do if he intentionally tricked or intended to harm the Jarl in any way. However, she also paid respects in the case he really was the Dragonborn. She left him with an air of confusion.
Another unexpected visitor was Delphine. And he could not explain her sudden change of attitude. She was respectful and although still quite brash, she didn't insult or ridicule him in any way. She even wanted to accompany him to Ivarstead, but mention of the Greybeards turned her away and she explained how she needed to help Farengar with something important. She assured him she would meet with him again to aid him sometime. He wasn't sure how he felt about that.
He wanted Lydia to visit again. He felt he could have more of a straight out conversation with her, without having to hide what he felt or could say. But she didn't visit again. There was a period when his only visitors were Hadvar and sometimes the Jarl, checking in on him now and then. He grew under the impression that the others were gone somewhere.
After several more days had passed, he carefully stood up, wincing with pain from his shoulder and back. He couldn't stand lying in the same spot any longer. Approaching his mirror, he turned and found a large yellow bruise at his lower back and a red line of a mark in the centre. He hoped it hadn't damaged him for life.
Thinking back on the day with the dragon, Tirane felt it had all been a dream. He could no longer remember what it had felt like to feel so alive, and live in the moment so he found it hard to believe what he had actually done. It was easier to believe that it was the others who had saved the day, not him. Lydia and Hadvar and Irileth. He felt more inclined to believe Irileth more about the dragon's soul, and understood the root of her scepticism.
He looked around his room. It was the most luxurious place he'd been in, never mind slept in. Was it all because they thought he was Dragonborn?
Tirane took great delight in walking around the palace, slowly regaining his strength. Nobles and members of the court would greet him and exchange pleasantries, which he was not used to. So he mainly wandered around the Great Porch, getting some fresh air, enjoying the view and chatting to the guards about its history when he yearned for company. Even though he recoiled at the mention of dragons, he couldn't deny the great purpose of the porch. Just standing in the middle of it seemed to make him shrink. The purpose and history was greater than he could ever be. If he was Dragonborn, why was this gift given to him? He couldn't understand it.
A week later, he was standing right at the balcony, admiring the view of the north. His arm was no longer bandaged and his head wound had improved immensely. His back was the main problem. He strained it just by walking around, but he hated lying in bed the whole day. He hoped it would heal soon so he could be on his way.
While it was healing, he also waited on the others. It was as he suspected when he was bedbound. Lydia, Delphine and Farengar had all left to find something called the Dragonstone. They hoped it would give them more of an insight to why the dragons were returning. If they took much longer, he was considering leaving alone and going his own way. He was sure he could handle it, but armour and a purse full of gold from the Jarl would help too.
So as he was standing staring out into the vastness of Skyrim, Hadvar burst the doors open to the Great Porch and jogged over to him.
"Tirane, they're back!"
He returned to the Great Hall as fast as he could, with Hadvar by his side in case he should stumble, to his annoyance. He found the Jarl with the rest of them in Farengar's chambers, their attention taken by a large tablet on the table.
"But their burial mounds? They're coming back but are they really coming back from the dead?" Balgruuf asked with disbelief.
"We won't know until we witness it for ourselves," Delphine answered. Then she caught sight of Tirane. "Good to see you up and about, friend. You're not as flimsy as I thought."
Tirane ignored her and stared down at the Dragonstone. It was an ancient thing, weathered with cracks and dust. But on it, he recognised, was a map of Skyrim. "So this shows us where the dragons are buried?" he asked.
Lydia nodded. "We should sketch this out or something. Save us from lugging this thing around everywhere."
"And what are we going to do with a map of burial sites?" Tirane asked, staring at them. "Do you really want to confront another dragon, face to face, even if they are being resurrected somehow?"
"This gives us the area of where the dragons might be," Farengar told him. "At best, it gives us a pre-emptive strike, once we have the man-power."
"And once you've trained with the Greybeards," Lydia cut in.
Delphine scoffed. "He can train in other ways. He may learn things from them, but the Greybeards will never want him to use them. They would make him sit and do nothing but meditate on that mountain and care nothing for what's happening down below."
"You should pay respect to the Greybeards, innkeeper," the Jarl warned her. "They are wise with their power, and use it only when needed."
"I know enough about the Greybeards to deduce what they are, Jarl Balgruuf." Delphine turned to Tirane. "You can go visit them if you want, but be careful. Meanwhile, I'll check out these burial mounds."
"Alone?" Lydia said.
Delphine nodded seriously without looking at her.
"And what will you do if you happen to encounter a dragon? Make a crude joke about it?"
Delphine gave Lydia a sharp look while Tirane held back a smirk. She obviously found out what it was like travelling with Delphine.
"Go and hunt dragons if you want, Delphine," Tirane told her. "You can endanger your life too. Just give it some thought before you do so I don't have a guilty conscience."
He, for once, received a smile from her. "Don't worry, I don't plan on dying, I just need to scout the areas. I'll be careful. I need to return to you, Dragonborn."
"Before we name the boy 'Dragonborn,' I'd like to know if there's any truth behind his claim," the Jarl commanded.
Tirane held back a biting remark at the fact he didn't claim anything, but held his tongue.
"Well, there is perhaps a way to find out with this, my Jarl." Farengar, with some difficulty, flipped the heavy Dragonstone over to reveal its other side. Dust fumed up into the air making Lydia cough a little. "This here is dragon language. Now I don't know if this will assert any claims, but if Tirane here is Dragonborn, there's a chance he could read it."
"I can't read any other language than my own," Tirane quickly objected. "That's impossible."
"Just try it," Lydia encouraged him, giving him a kind smile.
Sighing, Tirane shuffled through them to stand beside Lydia and look upon the alien letters. He watched them for a second with no doubt what would happen, and was about to turn away when something caught him there. He looked at the first letter with such familiarity and nostalgia that he was bewildered. But he couldn't stop. Back at the corners of his mind, the hidden knowledge he felt before awoke ever so slightly, and before he knew it, he had read the entire thing.
"Here lie our… fallen lords… until power of… Alduin revives…"
He glanced up to find the Jarl staring at him, baffled and Lydia's proud smile.
"The boy… ahem, Dragonborn read it correctly. Not many can read such a language, my Jarl. It must be true."
Tirane stared down at the Dragonstone again. It was nothing but dots and lines to him again. But Farengar was right. He was Dragonborn.
"What does it mean?" Tirane asked quietly. He had everyone's attention, and the truth of it just hit him.
"It means that the Divines have not abandoned us," the Jarl answered, his deep voice trembling.
Another week had passed, and Tirane was almost back to normal. He still suffered from aches and pains, but nevertheless, they were preparing to depart. He still found it hard to believe he was Dragonborn, but he found other news even more laughable.
"He wants to make me Thane of Whiterun?"
He had been walking with Lydia as they were almost ready to leave. The Jarl wanted to have a ceremony before they left to celebrate the return of the Dragonborn and grant Tirane the title of Thane. However, he felt his intelligence was being insulted.
"It's a great honour," Lydia assured him.
"I'm sure it is," he sarcastically agreed. "For him. If I wasn't Dragonborn, I'd already be kicked out of Dragonsreach, I'm sure of it."
She took hold of his shoulder and rooted him in the spot. "Listen, Tirane. You could use the Jarl's help in the future. Promise your allegiance to Whiterun and you'll get given gold and even a home. Plus, a name for yourself." Tirane was about to object when she cut him off again. "Being thane of Whiterun can help you in this world, Tirane. And it's the best city to do so; you've taken no side in the civil war by helping Jarl Balgruuf."
He turned away from her and began down the hall again, but he was considering it. "Fine. But no big ceremony or anything. I just want to leave."
Tirane was clothing himself in his new armour while his mind wandered. He was to become thane of Whiterun, a noble. He remembered clearly begging at them from below while they continued onward to the White-Gold Tower. Even with the broken mess it was in, they thought of themselves superior to everyone else. He had possessed a general hatred of the wealthy until he was old enough to understand the circumstances he was in.
He stood and glanced in the mirror at his new leather armour. He had expressed his opinion on heavy armour, and they had made him something lighter according to his wishes. He sheathed his scabby sword and old bow. He wished at least he had better weapons to go with it.
Just as if to answer his prayers, Lydia knocked twice and entered holding a brand new golden bow.
"It's an elven bow. And arrows to go with it," she smiled. "I insisted you should use better than that old thing."
He took it, not even trying to suppress the smile that crept on his face. "Thank you."
"You're welcome. Just try not to get buried under a ton of brick again."
A couple of hours later, Tirane was kneeling before the Jarl with his companions waiting for him. Despite his objection to a big ceremony, the Jarl had still summoned many nobles to witness the event and officially name him Dragonborn.
"You've done a great service for me and my city, Dragonborn."
He kept his head low and thought of the ones who died facing the dragon and of the others who fought alongside him. Hadvar deserved as much honour as he did.
"By my right as Jarl, I name you Thane of Whiterun. It's the greatest honour that's within my power to grant. I assign you Lydia as a personal Housecarl after your quest, and this weapon from my armoury to serve as your badge of office."
Jarl Balgruuf's steward came forward with a blade steadily in his hands which he handed to Tirane. It was a strong steel sword but frozen to the touch. It seemed to glow and possess an icy dust, but the hilt was warm enough to hold. He concluded it must be enchanted.
He stood, examining his sword, and the Jarl stood with him.
"Again, thank you for your services, Dragonborn. I'll also notify my guards of your new title. Wouldn't want them to think you're part of the common rabble, now would we?"
Tirane violently sheathed his sword and stared at the Jarl through narrow eyes. "Titles don't change who people are, my Jarl."
Without another word, he turned and marched down the steps, towards the exit of the Great Hall. His companions joined him and they left the great mass of Dragonsreach.
He knew what he needed to do now. And he was glad to be in the company of his friends. But they could never know what he truly intended. Tirane had expressed interest in the Eastern part of Skyrim, the cold weather and even carried a detailed map with him. He also took charge of the large coin purse granted by the Jarl while the others held smaller insurances with them. There was no need for them to question this decision; he was the Dragonborn. But they did not see him preparing for something else, researching the northern roads, beyond their assumed destination. Tirane had made his decision, and although he would regret leaving his companions behind, he knew in his gut that he wasn't going to see the Greybeards.
Thanks for reading! Please review if you can. ^^
