Disclaimer: *checks bank account* Nope, don't own Skyrim.
Chapter Warnings: Misunderstandings? Well, it is rather left up to interpretation. Language for sure, but nothing outrageous if you've been following the story so far.
Thanks to everyone who has so much as clicked on this story! Just knowing that people are reading is great. Special thanks to the reviewers, followers, favorite-ers, and any anonymous stealthy stalkers.
Chapter Eleven: By the Wayside
Dragonborn. If that's not the strangest thing anyone has ever called me… Must be a fluke. Has to be. Oh Kynareth, what if it isn't? Does that mean dragons are well and truly back, and I'll have to kill them with my magic voice? I need to read up on this… Dragonborn business. Just another thing to add to the list, anisa. Just more to do. I need to start recording in that journal again!
Zahra trudged up the road to Whiterun in a haze. She could barely feel her own feet, so focused was she on her thoughts, and so she drifted along, like an automaton patrolling a Dwarven ruin long after it had no masters left to protect. She thought as much as she could, going in circles in her mind to avoid being left alone with the steady humming of— the dragon's soul. If she kept herself distracted she could ignore the feeling of a foreign presence branded into her spirit, the incoherent rage and sadness pulsing from her defeated foe, even the burn in her throat from that word she had less spoken, more expelled, wanting to be released again. Knowledge, too, the abstract, detached idea that fus means force, and a glimpse into millennia of hiding, waiting, watching for my Lord's return—
What is wrong with me?
She shoved the dragon's presence into a cage, tossed aside the name-knowledge he left behind — Mirmulnir, that made it so much worse — and, by some Gods-given instinct, hoisted her own soul higher to smother the treacherous thoughts trickling in. To give that dragon a voice, even a name, was to give it power.
Her feet took her to the stables and past the caravan, where Ri'saad hailed her. She had only enough awareness to flop her hand uselessly by her side, but the savvy Khajiit let it go. She drifted across the drawbridge and into Whiterun proper — the guards recognized her, but, fearing the distant look on her face, did not dare stop her to ask for news.
It was as she passed through the market that a clap of thunder shook Whiterun, sending her stumbling and those around her looking about in panic.
DOV-AH-KIIN…
Her head spun and her vision blurred as she caught herself against Carlotta Valentia's stall, gasping for air. Something surged in her, then ebbed away, leaving her mind clear and, mercifully, the dragon mute. She righted herself, filled with a strange new sense of purpose, and looked around to find everyone staring at her. Hope, dread, confusion and reverence were in their eyes in equal amounts, but it was Jon Battle-Born pulling out his notebook, and starting to write while looking her over, that had her feet moving. She fled up to Dragonsreach, heart beating in her mouth.
The guards were staring now too: she could feel their eyes on her as she tried not to break into a run, as that would show fear. Instead she strode purposefully into the cool darkness of Dragonsreach. She didn't even pause at the entryway to let her eyes adjust, but stalked up to where it seemed the entirety of the Jarl's court, sans Irileth, waited for her.
A man she vaguely remembered was Balgruuf's younger brother stepped aside as she approached, the unrest — not quite worry, but closer to a battle-itch — on his face easing ever so slightly. His eyes flicked to her sword-arm, and she realized that while her flesh had healed by absorbing the soul, the tears in her armor and bracer remained. She scolded herself for not noticing earlier, adding another mental note to the many accruing in the past few hours alone.
The Jarl learned forward and said, "What happened? Was the dragon at the Watchtower?" His voice was filled with concern
Zahra took a deep breath and let it out through her bangs. "Yes. It is dead, though the fight was long and one of the guards did not survive." She didn't want to talk about that, and wouldn't if she could help it.
"Mmm. I will make sure he is remembered as a hero. But come now, I can tell there is more to the story."
Dammit. The direct question. Either he was more astute than she thought or she couldn't even omit information convincingly anymore. "Yes… When the dragon died I absorbed something from it. The guards were calling me Dragonborn."
"Dragonborn? What do you know about that?"
She bristled under his derisive tone, but wrestled her anger back and said carefully, "Not nearly as much as I would like, if I am being called such."
Balgruuf sat back, brow creasing. "It is true then. The Greybeards were summoning you."
"That was the Greybeards? That rumbling earlier?"
"Yes. They are masters of the Way of the Voice, after all. They can teach you how to use your gifts, if you really are Dragonborn." He grew distant, as if his mind was far away in space or time, and murmured, "The Seven Thousand Steps. To climb again… I made the pilgrimage once. I envy you to meet the Greybeards in person." He returned to Nirn when Proventus interrupted.
"Wait, wait. I don't see any evidence that Zahra is, what, 'Dragonborn.' What does this Nord nonsense have to do with her?"
Hrongar puffed himself up for rebuttal, but Zahra beat him to it. "FUS!" The Shout dissipated into the rafters, the cloud of dust dislodged in its wake drifting away. She tilted her head down again, raising an eyebrow at the stunned steward.
"Zahra, though I see your point I have to ask you not to do that again," the Jarl said uneasily but firmly. At her apologetic nod, he continued, "You'd better get up to High Hrothgar immediately. It is a tremendous honor to be summoned, and there is no refusing it. Although I wonder if the Greybeards are aware of anything else happening on this world besides the reappearance of the Dragonborn. Ah, no matter. Go and learn what the Greybeards can teach you. And take these." He gestured to a guard, who handed him a pair of gauntlets. Or at least they looked like gauntlets, but made from beautiful blue and green material that reminded her of Elven pieces. They looked far too delicate to be armor, but when she accepted them it was to find that, although light, they were also sturdy and unyielding. The enchantment on them looked very familiar.
"For your archery," Jarl Balgruuf said when she looked up, inquiring. "And for your service to my Hold."
She ran her hands over the smooth but cold, so very cold material before affixing the gauntlets to her arms, stuffing her old leather bracers into her pack for sale or later re-appropriation. Her eyes felt sharper, her hands steadier — it was a quality enchantment.
"Thank you, my Jarl," she murmured as she inclined her head.
"And," said Balgruuf, smiling gently, "by my right as Jarl—"
Aw shit. Shitshitshitshitshit. She knew exactly what he was doing and why.
"—I name you Thane of Whiterun. It's the greatest honor that's within my power to grant."
Because you want to be in the new Dragonborn's good graces, right? I'm onto you.
"I assign you Lydia as a personal Housecarl, and this weapon from my armory to serve as your badge of office." He hefted a battleaxe bigger than she was.
She didn't take it. She stared up at the Jarl, face contorting from disbelief to bemusement to outrage to resignation within the span of seconds. He just had to offer it publicly… "Apologies, my Jarl, but I must refuse, at the very least on account of the housecarl. I don't— that is, I don't need one." She had very nearly said I don't have an authority complex, but restrained herself, hoping that the Jarl thought Thaneship was enough to secure her loyalty. Not that it was, but he needn't have bothered since she was already attached to Whiterun. And not just because it was effectively neutral, either. The clan sniping she could have done without, but it was better than the monopoly of Markarth by far.
"Will you at least take the title? It has benefits, as I'm sure you're aware."
"Very well," she said, taking the battleaxe and getting out of there as fast as the heavy weapon would allow.
~o~
She didn't really flee, at least not far enough to make the Jarl think she was fleeing, but ended up in Farengar's office. The wizard deserved a story of the battle, at the very least, after being left behind.
And if she got what she was seeking, then all the better. Alas, Tac wasn't here to ply him with bones and scales and whatever else the Imperial would have recovered from the dragon. That would have been a massive boon, and not anywhere near to bribery, nope.
Farengar looked up as she entered, chuckling as she dragged the battleaxe behind her. "I see you've gotten a title," he said, putting away the book he had been reading. Something about the Dragon Wars — she didn't even care at this point. When the Axe of Whiterun was carefully propped up against the desk, she stretched her arms until her back popped (Farengar flinched at the sound) and said, "Hello to you too. I suppose you're not wanting the tale, then?"
"What? Of course I do. What was it like? Did it breathe fire?"
"Incinerated a guardsman." Although she said it lightly, she wasn't really expecting the excitement on the Nord's face at her statement. "Stop smiling and I'll tell you everything."
So she did. She sank into a chair — how could she not — and relayed the whole bloody, dragon-filled story of the Battle for the Watchtower, although she cut off at the point where she left for Whiterun. Even she wasn't ready to face the fact that the dragon had a name, and the thing lived inside her now, whispering strange thoughts. Thoughts her mortal mind didn't understand.
"I left Tac at the Watchtower to see if he could scavenge anything off the dragon. I walked back here, heard what sounded like thunder and gibberish at the time, and reported in to your boss. He sends me off to talk to the Greybeards, and gives me a title, an axe, and these." She indicated the gauntlets. "Which are the only one among them I will ever use. Tried to give me a housecarl, too. I had to decline — imagine that poor Lydia being my housecarl. I've been in a similar position for fatcat nobles in Cyrodiil, and while she probably won't see it that way, I'd rather not develop into anything like those idiots. And worse for her, she'd have to deal with me running all over Skyrim for bounties, with no actual fighting involved. Or at least not the kind that's anything more than spotting a wolf a mile away, sticking it through the neck with an arrow, and moving on."
"Or running straight for it screaming murder," came a voice from behind her.
Zahra knew better than to be surprised. "Hey Tac. Where have you been? How long have you been listening?" She turned her head, not enough so she could see him, but to make it clear she was paying attention.
The Imperial stepped up to the back of her chair, leaning over her and peering down as she tilted her head back."At the Temple getting patched up." Zahra mentally slapped herself — of course he had been injured! Before she could say anything he winked at her and continued, "and since the part you conveniently left out."
Stop! Poker face. "What part?"
"Oh, where I apologized to the dragon for gutting its eyeball." He smirked at her. Bastard.
"Ah yes. That was embarrassing. So what did you find? Anything for Farengar here?"
Both men perked up. "Yessiree, couple bones and a scale," Tac said, digging around in his pack. He pulled out a large bone with a very familiar-looking yellow tunic caught in it, setting it down on the table before going after the other items.
"Tac, is that a Whiterun guard's uniform?" Farengar stared at the fabric as if it would contaminate his workspace with uncounted diseases. Zahra had more pressing issues. She thought for a horrifying second that Tac had pilfered it from a body to sell for profit.
"Yep, got it from the dragon. Thought I'd turn it in to the Jarl or the guard captain, see that it goes to the family of the poor sod."
Zahra sighed with relief. "Tac, you never fail to surprise me. Usually not in a good way, but here we are."
"Aww, darlin' you're the sweetest thing." Tac batted his eyelashes, a truly disturbing sight, and stuffed the uniform into his pack again.
Farengar was salivating over the largest bone now that it was no longer draped in a bloody rag, turning it over and over in his hands, peering down the length, poking at it with his blunt nails, and cooing all the while. Zahra had to clear her throat several times to even get a glance from him, so enamored was he. It would have been endearing if it wasn't a dragon bone.
"Hey, Farengar, I'm curious. Who was that woman who was here when we dropped off the Dragonstone?" Zahra asked, trying to sound casual.
That got the wizard away from his new obsession. He stared at her, all traces of excitement gone. "An associate of mine."
"I know that. I'm wondering what she does. Is she an adventurer? She looked familiar, I think I've met her before on a job or something." Technically true, I did meet her while we were at the inn in Riverwood…
"It's certainly possible. She does a lot of work, most of which she doesn't fill me in on."
It seemed she wasn't going to get anything, which was a shame since she had a bad feeling about this woman who called herself Delphine. "Oh, okay. I suppose if she's that busy we'll probably meet again. Did you want the bones and scale?"
They worked out a deal — or rather, Farengar shoved money at her until she got over her shock and accepted. Zahra checked his wares for any Adept or better Robes of Conjuration, intending to give them to Caïn to use until they could find an enchanter good enough to recreate his custom robes taken by the Legion, but found nothing suitable. Tac wandered off at some point, as likely to report to the Jarl as to harass the man's bratty children. Possibly both, while swiping some silverware. She made a mental note to check his bag for pilfered goods before they left; wouldn't be good for the court's newest Thane to be caught associating with a kleptomaniac, even if it was just sweetrolls and spoons.
"Anisa" = borrowed from an Arabic name meaning "intimate friend; woman" and used in this context to be Zahra's term of endearment for herself. "Pull yourself together, woman!" — like that.
For the record, I love Balgruuf, and I don't think Zahra would be so hasty if she weren't feeling so weird here.
Review please?