Chapter 19: Calling
I leapt down the ramp outside of the Western watchtower, ignoring my base instinct to run away from the sounds of fire and fighting, and darted behind a tumble of rubble to its side in an attempt to keep out of sight. I had an idea of how to help, but no plan as such, and I was now exposed. But I also had a Whiterun guard by my side, I reminded myself, again and again, before the panic could set in. I could warn him of any impending attacks, and he could fight for both of us. We would be fine.
Bryor crashed down next to me, slamming his back against the rock as he glanced toward me expectantly.
I turned my eyes up from him, toward the sky, unable to maintain his fear-filled gaze. We'll be fine.
The dragon, which was a golden colour, and definitely smaller than the first I'd encountered, was a hazy blot of half limed, glittering scales and half shadow high above, swerving between the pillars of smoke its fires had created as a frustratingly effective camouflage. Over the crackling of the flame, I could hear the whiz of arrows as they were fired toward the beast, and the soldiers shouting orders as they fled from one point of cover to the next.
"YOL!"
"Get down!" I screamed over the roar of the dragon's cry, covering my ears as fire resounded through my veins, setting every nerve alight. I pressed my back into the uneven stones, wishing to become one of them, and waited for the roaring, surging flames to cease. Bryor immediately did what I did, glancing fearfully to the sky as he ducked against the rubble pile as bright flames crashed onto the ground and lit up our surrounds.
When no more explosions came, the sounds of a soldier screaming in pain replaced it. I turned over immediately, lying on the rubble and searching the skies. The dragon had retreated to the high and relative safety of the smoke towers again, drifting lazily between them, with its head turned down to watch; to regard its carnage.
Is it proud? I narrowed my eyes at the creature, but shuddered as my eyes were drawn to what it looked down upon. Soldiers were labouring to help the guard who had been caught by the recent inferno, smothering the flames with their cloaks.
I shook my head with no true idea of what to do, and turned to Bryor. "I have to get closer, so I can warn the others when it's about to strike. Do you have a bow?" I asked him.
He nodded, shuddering as well, but sheathed his sword and retrieved a short bow from his back.
"Good," I un-shouldered mine, for appearances sake; shame creeping into my belly at the knowledge that my bow – or rather, my weak arm – would not do us any good. I placed an arrow in it, with shaking hands, and then threw Bryor a nod, casting my eyes back to the skies. "Let's g- no, wait!" I hissed, dipping down again as a large shadow whooshed over our hiding place.
The dragon swooped down, snapping its mouthful of sharp teeth at the cluster of guards attempting to help the one that had been burned.
"Gahvon mal joorre! Krif los daniik," it hissed.
The alarmed guards leapt out of the way to avoid the dragon as it skirted just above the ground, impervious to its own flames, and the translation of what it had said scalded me; Yield little mortals! Your fight is doomed.
"We're not doomed," I whispered petulantly, realising that it was playing with us. My eyes followed the dragon as it rose, its belly nearly touching the wall of the watchtower as it agilely angled its form up and up...
"Let's go!" I told Bryor in a hush, and then ran out to join a cluster of Whiterun guards, knowing that he would follow me, out of fear of being left by himself if nothing else.
The soldiers didn't notice or care that two more had joined their ranks; their eyes were on the skies as they shot arrows at the beast; all falling short of their target.
"Hold your fire!" Irileth's voice boomed from above; I craned my head around to catch a glimpse of the Dunmer standing atop the watchtower with her own bow raised, but not firing. "Save your arrows – it's out of range!"
But it wasn't for long. Bryor and I dove behind another pile of rubble that had toppled down from the tower at some point as the dragon turned on the crowd and uttered another ear-shattering screech. There were no words behind it, but the scream it uttered was entirely provocative, and I took it to mean that the dragon was still merely toying with us; like a cat, battering a trapped mouse to make it move so it could pounce on it again.
Bryor didn't cower or look to me for a plan this time; instead he adjusted his helmet as he turned onto his belly on the rubble, and drew his bow. He watched the skies; waiting.
"Tell me if it's going to breathe fire again, milady," his voice shook as he spoke, though his hand, and eyes, appeared as steady as anybody else's under the circumstances.
"I will," I promised, calling out over the dragon's incomprehensible vocalisations, and turned my eyes back to the tormenting wyrm, to see it rising up into the air again; its meaningless bellowing over. Bryor fired at the dragon's belly, and his arrow wasn't the only one let loose at the sight of the dragon's somewhat paler underside.
Several arrows hit it, but the dragon barely flinched, hissing out a somewhat amused, throaty; "Mal nin! Hi nis golt daar gein."
Little sting! You cannot ground this one, the translation rumbled through me. I narrowed my eyes at the beast, a strange calm settling over me in the wake of these new words. It was mocking us because it was feeling the sting of the arrows fired at it. It was reassuring itself that it would not be grounded. Which meant that was exactly what we had to do.
"Shoot as many arrows as you can at its arms – I mean wings," I told Bryor in a rush, dashing out from our cover to run to another guard. "If it can't fly, it must land. Tell the others!" I told him.
"Yes milady!" his response was steady, floating after me on the hot, howling breeze.
I leapt over a strip of faltering flames, skidding to a halt beside another Whiterun soldier.
"We have to ground it – it's getting weaker!" I cried out to her.
She startled at my sudden appearance. "Who are you?!" she shrieked. "This is no place for civilians-!"
"I'm your new Thane!" I cut in. "I'll explain later – tell as many as you can to focus their arrows on the join between its body and wings!"
"But-!"
Before she could say any more, I ran again to the next nearest guard, who had noticed my approach with a confused cross to his brows. "Concentrate your fire on the dragon's wings!" I told him, glancing up to the sky, and spotting the dragon idly winding back around to us again, its head swivelling to pick out its next target.
"YOL!" I saw the word form in the dragon's maw as it dove down toward us at a steep angle, very suddenly.
"Take cover!" I cried out, grabbing the guard's arm and hauling him down behind a fallen turret.
The flames of the shout burned the ground we had been standing on, bursting and writhing with flames and curls of smoke.
The sound of the dragon swooping over us shook everything, and its wake was like a hand, trying to push us out of our hiding place, and expose us to the terrible flames.
"It's stopped," I told the guard. "Quick, fire before it flies too high," I ordered him hurriedly.
The guard didn't need any further prompting, perhaps determining the same for himself. His mouth formed a thin line as he raised his bow, narrowed his eyes, and fired.
The battle raged on like this, for a time, and I found myself unable to keep still. I darted between rubble and in-tact sections of watchtower, telling all who would listen to focus their attack on its wings, then diving for cover the moment the dragon fancied to lunge at us again. It hurled insults and curses, growing angrier at each pass, which only served to satisfy me as I relayed our mounting success to whichever guard was nearest me at the time. If we were making it angry, we were on the path to winning.
After completing a full circuit of the yard below the watchtower, I crashed down behind the rubble I had left Bryor at, raising my own bow and keeping the dragon's body in my sights. I knew I would have no hope of hitting it, but I had to at least practise aiming and firing – at least once.
"It's working," I told him swiftly. "It's getting mad."
"And that's a good thing?" was Bryor's aghast reply.
I smirked a sideways smile at him, nodding, then trained my eyes on the sky as a keening Ag joor zaam; burn, mortal slaves, was uttered, punctuated with another guttural YOL!
"Down!" I told Bryor swiftly. We ducked down behind our shelter, only to grasp hold of one another as the ground rolled beneath our feet, threatening to throw us into the air.
The flames being breathed by the dragon stopped crashing onto the earth, and I peeked around the rubble and through the lines of flames and haze of heat and smoke; and gasped. I could see it, on the dirt, using its back feet and wings to crawl toward the nearest guard, its teeth snapping and gnashing furiously.
"It's down!" I told Bryor triumphantly, nudging him with my elbow but unable to take my eyes off the creature, or mask my glee at the small win.
"Rarghh!" was Bryor's reply.
I startled and immediately turned to the young soldier, wondering how he'd been hurt, but he wasn't. Bryor threw down his bow and retrieved his sword, leading a charge across the ground with his weapon raised, screaming a battle-cry toward the dragon.
I stood tall, horrified, watching as Whiterun guards from every direction did the same. The mass reached the dragon, leaping and hacking at the downed beast with their swords and axes. The blood drained from my face but I couldn't turn away, as through the flickering orange flames I saw men and women flung into the air and heard the cries and screams of humans and dragon alike. The tangy smell of blood was carried across the plains on the hot, smoky wind surging around me and I wavered, wondering if this was real, for all before me suddenly felt like some horrible nightmare that I might wake from if I just tried hard enough.
But it wasn't a dream; it was a brutal, fiery massacre. My eyes were burning and weeping from the smoke, glued to the scene before me. My back met something hard and unyielding very suddenly; solid stone – the outer wall of the watchtower, and I took it to mean that I had been stepping backwards, unconsciously.
Irileth's battle-cry as she leapt out of the tower with her sword raised to join the others captured my attention for a second. A screech of rage from the downed dragon drew my focus back to it; its head raised and throat bared as it roared incoherently. A volley of arrows struck the exposed neck and the dragon whipped its head down, grabbing the nearest guard in its teeth and shaking him like a rag-doll, before tossing the lifeless body aside with a flick of its neck.
It felt as though time slowed down. Through the flickering orange haze, I saw Irileth dodge the swiping, barbed tail of the creature, then evade the serpentine jaw full of teeth as she dived under its reaching head. She leapt, with alarming grace, up onto the dragon's neck and locked her ankles around it. I would have gaped at her fearlessness, had I not been struck frozen and horrified by the event already.
While the other guards continued to strike and hack at the body and what they could reach of its neck, Irileth aimed straight for the head, driving her sword up and into the dragon's skull.
"No!" I screamed on impulse; my hand covering my mouth in horror.
None heard me but the dragon, it seemed; it's glinting, beady eyes searching for me as its whole body shuddered from Irileth's blow.
"Dovahkiin!" it cried, its shout imbued with pain, and fear.
My hand fell and I realised that I was moving – running forward. The arrow I had placed in my bow fell and clattered onto the hardened, burned earth, unused. The dragon's plea resounded within me, though I was not certain if it had cried the word out to me, or because of me, but perhaps the context didn't matter, for it had been a singular, piercing recognition; dragonborn!
I felt blank as I was propelled onwards by a force within me I couldn't name or control. I was enthralled by the dragon's final word, as it echoed around the cavern of my mind, accusing and distressed.
The Whiterun guards stepped back and Irileth leapt from the dragon's neck as the creature thrashed its death throes. They raised their bows, arrows aimed and steady, should the dragon determine to recover from such an blow. I ignored them; knowing in my heart that the dragon was already dead.
It fell to the ground with a crash that shook everyone and everything around it, and when the dust and smoke settled, it twitched no more.
The sight of the now immobile creature halted me. I heaved air as a dreaded anticipation settled in my stomach, churning and bubbling in the sudden quiet. Be happy, I schooled myself with an inward prod. It is over, and you survived.
A cheer tore through the silence, issued by the Whiterun guards. I was vaguely aware of back slapping occurring and congratulatory words being uttered. I barely felt the hand on my back, or heard Bryor's words as he said something to the effect of 'we did it!'; I could not take my eyes from the lifeless dragon before me.
Something was wrong about this, but I couldn't place what, exactly. My heartbeat was loud in my ears; the furious beating of a drum, as I watched and waited as a creeping itch under my skin intensified. I wasn't hypocrite enough to call the feeling remorse for killing the beast that had toyed with and brought down many before it had been ended. I had worked toward its death, just as we all had; it was on all of us, just as the victory would be when word got around.
The dragon shimmered.
I drew in a sharp breath, scrambling forward, uncaring of what it was I was falling over as I got back up and continued toward it. "It's not over!" I whispered urgently, but knew that I wouldn't be heard over the jubilant guards.
Cries of alarm began to overwhelm the cheers of success. The dragon's body burst spectacularly into flame. But no, it wasn't flame, I determined immediately. These curls were too white, and too golden; too ethereal and brilliant to be as heavy and cold as worldly fire.
The light spiralled and coalesced, its tendrils splaying and reaching out, and at once I found myself encircled by the buzzing, tenacious, glorious brightness.
It was at the same time beautiful and terrible; a disharmonious chorus echoing between my ears, whispering along my armour and across my skin. Then it was in my veins, whirring around my skull and latching onto my mind, if such a thing beyond grey brain matter was tangible and able to be clung to. I would have screamed, but I forgot how to.
I felt my feet touch the ground, and I opened my eyes, but wasn't able to recall being lifted, or closing my eyes, to begin with. My vision, blurred by the acrid smoke and tears of – what was this? Joy? Grief? – was lined in gold, and for a single, fleeting moment, I could have sworn that I saw the beating hearts of every man and woman stood before me, bright and warm and thudding their tiny, uneven rhythms.
I blinked, and the vision was gone.
A human was in my line of sight. I blinked again, and was able to place the man as the Whiterun guard, Bryor. He was offering me his arm, and speaking; or at least, his lips were moving. The words he said didn't reach my ears at once, and took longer for me to process.
I shook my head at him, not understanding, but reached out to him anyway. I startled, drawing my hand back when I saw the tiny, pale, fleshy appendages of a weak and wiry young woman.
Blinking again, this feeling, too, faded, and I fell forward as I tried to take a step toward the soldier.
Bryor caught me. "Whoa!" he grasped my arms, holding me upright and ducking down to meet my eyes. "Steady, Lady Dragonborn. You've..." he stopped, glancing from me uneasily, to something beyond me.
I turned to look over my shoulder; catching sight of a line of enormous, dried out bones.
"What happened?" I asked him; my mouth dry, my voice foreign to my ears.
I blinked and turned back to him. Irileth was standing beside Bryor now; her red eyes wide, but still somehow, judging me. "What do you think happened?" she muttered, but passed me a water skin at the same time.
I drank and drank. My thirst would never be quenched. The cool liquid settled in my system, grounding me. Awareness prickled at me; I could feel the eyes of every guard that had survived the ordeal on my form, and lowered the water skin, passing it back to its owner.
"I don't know," I told her, relieved that my voice seemed to have recovered, and that I sounded like myself again. "Tell me, please," I gave the housecarl an imploring look. "If you know what that was, do not keep it from me."
"You're Dragonborn," one of the guards to my right spoke up.
I glanced at her instead, taking in her awe-struck expression with a frown. "Yes," I nodded.
"No, but – you absorbed its soul," the same guard continued, stepping forward. She raked her helmet from her head, and bowed down to me on one knee, lowering her eyes.
I drew in a breath as, one by one, all the other guards did the same, until only Irileth and Bryor remained standing; the latter still supporting me. The young soldier hastily let go of me and dropped to his knee, when he realised he was the only guard who hadn't, but Irileth merely rolled her eyes and 'tsked'.
Frightened by their sudden reverence, when I had done nothing to aid in bringing down the beast myself, I squared Irileth. "Am I supposed to be able to do that?" I asked her.
She shrugged a shoulder, casting her eyes over her lowered fellows with an exasperated sigh. "Get up, all of you," she uttered. "She is not the Jarl."
"She is our saviour!" a voice from the mass cried out, heavily accented.
I winced. "I'm not, really. You took the dragon down for yourselves."
"You can use the thu'um, like the dragons!" another voice piped up, from the opposite direction.
I shook my head again, my eyes pleading with Irileth to bring an end to this exposing, mortifying display.
With a weary sigh that surprised me, Irileth stepped beside me and put her arm around my shoulders, turning me away from the crowd. "I don't know what really happened to you, but the Jarl will want to -"
"No, don't go yet!" a guard cried out; the heavily accented one who had called me their saviour. I turned around under Irileth's arm, frowning, and located the man; his head was raised higher than the others and his brown beard bobbed as he spoke. "Give us a shout, Lady Dragonborn! Show us your power!" he encouraged.
A chorus of supportive cries rang out around the plain and into the night; nearest to me, Bryor's brown gaze shimmered with devotion.
"I..." I stammered, glancing away from his penetrating gaze and flushing. I did not deserve, let alone want, his devotion. I cast my eyes to the enormous outline of the dragon skeleton beyond the guards. Under their keen, shining eyes and display of fealty, I felt myself rooted to the spot. I had wanted them to believe me, so I could help them; and now they did.
I don't know how to shout, I wanted to tell them; but held my tongue as, intrinsically, I no longer felt that to be completely true.
Irileth's hand was on my shoulder again; a determined grasp, urging me away. "Celeste?" she asked me sharply.
I shrugged her off, turning back to the crowd. "I have to try," I muttered to her.
Irileth made a disgruntled sound, but I ignored her, closing my eyes and taking a deep, calming breath. And another. A third, to steady myself and push my conflicted, guilty, confused, terrified thoughts, all warring for dominance, from my mind.
The breaths eased the maelstrom within me, and in the silence I felt the presence of FUS. I smiled, filling my lungs with cool but smoky air as relief flooded me. Whatever else the dragon's light – or the soul, as the guard had called it – had done to me, it had expanded my range, far beyond the extent that my teachers at the Bard's college could ever have taught me, for the notes were beyond explanation or understanding, as though they were nestled in between all other known sounds.
"FUS!" I sang, my diaphragm pushing the air, sound, and force from me in a whoosh that left me feeling wild and invigorated.
The guards were still on their knees before me, and then they weren't; toppling to the ground one by one. The sound of my shout faded as it escaped the confines of the watchtower yard, and continued on into the night.
There was silence, and I closed my mouth with a snap, staring with wide eyes over the fallen soldiers. Disbelief flooded me; did I do that?
They stirred and began to pick themselves up. One of them laughed. Then another laughed, and two more, and before long they were all laughing and cheering, rushing forward to congratulate me for a word that, once spoken, had felt more natural to me than my birth language.
I bore it shakily, plastering a smile on my face for their sakes, remembering the Jarl's desire that I bring them hope as I shuddered in the wake of what I had just achieved.
Underneath the shock, I was thrilled that the prospect of using Stormcloak's shout against him was within my grasp, and terrified at what being so close actually meant for my future.
I would have to face him. Everything I had sworn, when I had known nothing, and felt too much, was real, now. There could be no more pleading my weak and feeble frame and inability to defend myself as a cause against facing oppressors, or delving into dark and dangerous places. None would believe me, or excuse me, if I refused to meet every challenge head-on.
As Irileth broke up the party and I felt my feet being resettled onto the ground (they had picked me up?), one realisation spoke louder and clearer within me than all others, breaking my heart.
I must now learn to fight.
The part of me that had promised never to do so was crushed, and from the recesses of my mind, Kodlak Whitemane's words flew to me, comforting me as it confirmed what I had determined, and in a way, framing my options.
"What we desire and what we must achieve do not always align so easily, little dove."
I smiled sadly at the reminder, sighing shakily and nodding automatically when Bryor asked if he could have the honour of helping me back to Dragonsreach. My mind was still on my meeting with the Harbinger of the Companions, who had offered me sanctuary and teaching, despite my appearance, what felt like several months earlier. It had been a matter of days:
"Should you change your mind about the lonely path set before you, a bed can be made available to you for more than a single night, and your shield-siblings would willingly teach you that which you feel you lack in physical strength, should you determine that it is time for you to acquire some."
I grimaced at the reminder; the thought of joining ranks with a bunch of mercenaries making a part of me cringe back into itself.
But I'm a bard!
You're also the Dragonborn.
Can I not be both?
During the walk back to Whiterun, which I was barely conscious of, I made myself consider my next move as logically as I could manage.
I could make for Solitude, and join the Legion. They would teach me to fight, and I would be cast into battle after battle, and either have to learn to fight or die at the hands of the Stormcloaks.
I shook my head at this idea, as Delphine's command to stay alive burned through me accusingly.
Riverwood, my mind dashed to. I could retreat to Riverwood and have Faendal teach me to use a bow, as he had offered.
Better, I encouraged myself. But why restrict yourself to the bow, when you have been offered teaching in many disciplines in Whiterun itself?
I sighed at myself; Kodlak's pointed words had brought the idea of joining the Companions back to front and centre. Yes, I could remain in Whiterun and join the Companions. As the Jarl's Thane, it would be expected of me to remain here, for a time. And in that time, I could join the Companions, and have them teach me to become the fighter that Skyrim would now expect me to be.
I didn't like the idea of becoming a fighter; but I felt that I had little choice in the matter.
Cursing the dragons return, I let myself be led back to the safe serenity of Whiterun city. But the moment we entered the gates, a booming sound rent the air, cracking like thunder across the night sky;
"Dovahkiin!"
The soldiers around me cried out. Bryor grasped hold of me and ducked from the sound, but I turned my eyes to the stars, searching for the source.
"What was that?" I whispered. It hadn't sounded like a dragon, but the voices had spoken in the dragon tongue.
"It was the voice of the Gods," Bryor stammered, letting go of me as he cast his eyes to the sky fearfully.
I crossed my brows at him and shook my head. "It was human," I told him, more sternly than I had intended.
Irileth was beside me again, grasping my upper-arm in her firm grip. "We need to report back to the Jarl, now," she charged toward Dragonsreach, her clasp unyielding. "This is getting out of hand," she added in a mutter.
I twisted my arm until she released me, and walked beside her, matching her pace for myself. "It certainly is," I replied, pointedly glaring in her direction.
–
The Jarl was pacing the throne room, unable to sleep while awaiting word of the fate of the Western watchtower, I presumed.
He stopped and turned to face us silently as Irileth and I approached. Movement to the left and right of the Jarl caught my attention; it was Farengar, Adrianne's father and another man; hulking with a sandy-blonde beard, wearing well-worn, scaled armour and with slashes of fearsome red warpaint crossing his cheek and eyes.
They all rose and ventured forward to join the Jarl as we drew nearer the men.
Farengar was the first to speak; calling out to us as we passed the hearth.
"Did you hear it? The shout across the skies?" he called excitedly.
"How could we have not?" Irileth fired back. "It doubtless woke the entire bloody town. We're fine, by the way," she snapped to the mage.
Farengar waved his hand at the housecarl dismissively, huffing a laugh. "Never had any doubt you would survive a dragon, oh formidable one."
"Enough!" Jarl Balgruuf snapped roughly, glaring between the pair as Irileth and I drew to a halt at the base of the stairs leading to his throne. "I am in no mood for your bickering! Irileth!" he commanded, his steely-blue eyes rounding on the Dunmer; "Report."
Irileth stood to attention and bowed, humourlessly delivering a summary of what had occurred at the watchtower; how the dragon had been dealt with, and what had occurred after. As she outlined what she had seen when I had absorbed the soul of the felled dragon, all eyes drifted to settle on me, but hers.
I stood tall, reminding myself that I was a Thane, and could bare their scrutiny, though turned my eyes to Irileth, as she was the only person in the room with her eyes focused elsewhere. I watched her dispassionately relay my first shout to them.
She completed her report, and Jarl Balgruuf spoke up immediately. "Thane Passero. Do you have anything to add?"
I turned back to the Jarl, meeting his hard eyes with a small start, and opened my mouth automatically to speak. "Only...that which you already are aware," I raised my chin so I wouldn't stammer and took a breath as he waited. "We returned to Whiterun and as we set foot in the city, voices from above called out 'dovahkiin' to the night. It means 'dragonborn'," I explained, perhaps unnecessarily.
"It was the Greybeards," the Jarl murmured, his eyes more speculatively fixed on me now. He descended the stairs to stop on the last before me. "Leave us," he uttered to the others, without taking his eyes off me.
I was aware of the others somewhat reluctantly exiting the room, though knew that they would still be listening from their alcoves and side rooms to everything that passed between us.
I bore the Jarl's inspection, standing tall and ensuring I retained a respectful, open expression. I had nothing to hide; he knew all, and likely more than I did about what was happening. I would welcome his advice.
"They have noticed that you exist," he murmured, the corner of his mouth rising. "And summoned you for further training to High Hrothgar."
Greybeards? I cringed inwardly at his naming those who had called for me; for their dovahkiin. I knew little of the Greybeards; only that they lived in absolute seclusion at the Throat of the World. I was certain that presenting myself to them would be a cause for severe disappointment in the hermits.
"I journeyed the seven thousand steps, when I was about your age," he revealed, when I didn't speak. "To be summoned by them is...a great honour," Jarl Balgruuf smiled fondly clasping his hand to my shoulder. "You must go to them, at once."
I didn't want to go anywhere. I bit my bottom lip and played for time. "I am unequipped for such a journey, my Jarl," I tried, my words quieter than I had intended.
"You shall be provided with all you need to endure it. The housecarl I am to assign you in the morning will protect you."
I shook my head in a more pleading than refusing manner. "But I know so little of the world. I will be a source of vexation and failure, to them."
"On the contrary, Celeste;" his immediate counter, as his hand fell back to his side. "You are incapable of disappointing anybody with an open mind and heart. And, they will expect your questions, and teach you all that you need to know about being Dragonborn."
"But, this is happening too quickly," I gasped out, surprised to feel my eyes full of tears, very suddenly. I shook my head again, in an effort to dispel them. "Can I not have a year to myself, now that I know of my status, to train and prepare for everything that is supposed of me-?"
"You slayed one dragon tonight. By Irileth's account, upon sighting it you told her that there was more than one dragon in Skyrim," Jarl Balgruuf reminded me gravely. "Do you believe that they will wait a year, for you to be ready to face your destiny?"
I shook my head sadly; of course they would not, but I couldn't bare thinking on it. "I didn't slay the dragon," I reminded him. "I couldn't. I have no power, but for this -" I reached for a word, coming up frustratingly short - "adeptness for hearing what a dragon is saying."
"You have the thu'um," he added, his voice rumbling and reasonable. "And that aptitude is all the power a Dragonborn is expected to have."
I disagreed, but couldn't outright tell him this. "Please, my Jarl," I appealed, turning my eyes down. "I beg you, let me stay here in Whiterun, if not for a year, then a month, as your Thane. I will work with all who will teach me, so that I don't feel so hopelessly matched against these...terrifying odds, and these," I spluttered, "colossal expectations."
"Celeste," Jarl Balgruuf's voice was patient, and his hand was on my chin, making me turn my eyes back up to his steely-blue ones. My vision shook as I beheld him, smiling patiently down at me, and I knew that I was on the verge of tears, yet again.
"You expect too much of yourself," he schooled. "And I am your Jarl, not your keeper. I will not order you to climb the seven thousand steps and present yourself to the Greybeards."
I bit my bottom lip, nodding as a sign that I understood.
He sighed, releasing my chin and looking above me, to the hearth beyond. "The monks of High Hrothgar exist in a state where time barely exists or passes to them. While their summons must be answered, if your instincts tell you that you must first attain some other knowledge prior to venturing to them, then you must be guided by those instincts," he shrugged, but frowned.
I practically sobbed with relief, my eyes closing as I huffed a grateful, single laugh to the flagstones. "Thank you, my Jarl. I will work hard and endeavour to gain some strength within the close of a month," I swore to him.
I heard the Jarl sigh again, then he turned and retreated from me, stepping up to his throne. "You already have strength, little one. What you lack is confidence."
The disappointment in his tone, if that's what it was, made my cheeks hot and my heart sink. I bowed my head in farewell, sensing that a dismissal was nigh. "Then I shall endeavour to gain confidence within that time, also," I conceded quietly.
He sat, lounging in his throne, leaning on the arm rest and drawing the tail of his beard thoughtfully through his hand as his eyes flickered over me. "I believe you will. All right, to bed with you," he waved toward the exit, casting me a half-smile. "Return to me tomorrow morning, once you are refreshed from your...experience."
I thanked him, bidding him goodnight, and gratefully turned away.
But I didn't make for bed, or Breezehome, at once.
No, first I had to seek out Kodlak Whitemane and plead my case to him. I prayed that he was still amenable to the prospect of me joining their ranks. I had bought myself some time to gain some strength, though it wasn't much, and I had to make the most of it.