The League of Dragonborn
Chapter 5: Delphine
I'm back, I'm ready to continue this story, and to make it one of my best yet.
In the small hours of the morning, the foursome made their way to Ivarstead to climb the 7,000 steps. While Freja didn't outwardly seem to appreciate the gravity of the honor (especially since she'd climbed the steps and met with the Greybeards on her own a year earlier), her three companions were awed by the journey. What actually spanned mere hours seemed like a lifetime, and they stopped at various points to rest, to give fight to the trolls and snow wolves they encountered, and to look out upon the world below from their snow-covered perch.
As the sun rose high in the sky, Freja, Sofja, Bryn, and Vilkas laid eyes upon High Hrothgar, in all its gray, imposing, stony glory. Approaching the entrance doors, Sofja was surprised to see them open before her. A hooded man with a scraggly, gray beard opened his arms to them, a warm, gentle expression playing on his face. "Finally," he murmured, his voice rough like orichalcum stone. "Welcome to High Hrothgar."
Their footsteps echoed loudly in the cold, stone hallways of the castle, and neither Vilkas nor Brynjolf made a peep. They'd both heard stories growing up of the Greybeards — the reclusive men who studied the 'way of the voice' high up on the Throat of the World. Never had either of them imagined they'd see it all with their own eyes — or that the women they loved respectively would be the reason for their journey. Two Dragonborns.
Behind the hooded man, Freja walked, with Sofja trailing slightly behind her, until they came upon a larger room where more men in more hoods stood patiently. Vilkas and Brynjolf looked at each other warily.
"Okay, is someone going to tell us what's going on?" Freja asked. Sofja gritted her teeth at her impertinence; this whole two Dragonborns thing going to take some getting used to, she thought with irritation.
Finally, their guide spoke. "We are honored to have both our Dovahkiin present. I am Master Arngeir," the man said quietly, his eyes bright and crinkling at the edges, revealing his age. "It is of utmost importance—"
Freja stepped forward, ready to interrupt again, but this time, Sofja grabbed her forearm, shooting her a warning look that said keep your mouth shut. Freja didn't feel threatened by the short, redheaded nobody, but she did wonder if maybe her quick wit had started getting the best of her lately. While she had been under so much pressure — leaving Bryn to face Nocturnal, facing the possibility of having to be some hero of Nord legend — even she recognized the seriousness of the moment. Freja nodded and looked back at Arngeir. "Thank you for allowing us to come. We…are eager to understand the circumstances of our situation. Of…" She looked back at Sofja, then at Arngeir. "This. Of there being two of us."
Arngeir nodded knowingly. "It is almost as unlikely as dragons returning from the grave… And yet, this is the reality laid out before us. The tomes of old say precious little about the Dovahkiin except that he or she would live to protect us as long as dragons fly. No mention of their race, their origin, their sex… In the old tongue, the word Dovahkiin itself can even be singular or plural, in fact."
Sofja nodded, though her eyebrows knitted together with concern. "Surely, Master Arngeir, there's more to it than that." She felt uncomfortable in the center of the room. Though Freja stood by her side, the other Greybeards stood in a line behind him, hardly moving or breathing, their hands folded in front of them. Glancing behind, Sofja took comfort as she saw Brynjolf and Vilkas watching the scene unfold with caution.
"My dear," Arngeir said carefully, "all we can guarantee is that if the fates have provided us two Dovahkiin at this crucial time, then the world is woefully unbalanced, and both of you are needed."
Freja nodded. "So why have you called us here, Masters?"
Arngeir smiled. "To train… And to receive instructions on a mission of utmost importance.
In a few hours, Sofja and Freja had received lessons on shouting, practicing over and over again until their throats were sore and their bodies ached from the shouts, which rocked their muscles and shook their bones. Though Brynjolf and Vilkas were the trusted companions of the two Dovahkiin, the Greybeards relegated them to a nearby dining hall, disallowing them from witnessing the training Sofja and Freja were receiving. Vilkas was livid, itching to do something—anything—until one of the masters entered the room. Vilkas elbowed Brynjolf, who had somehow managed to doze off on the cold, stone floor. "Master Arngeir requests your presence," the man whispered.
The men were led to a conference room, at the center of which was a massive stone table covered in fineries usually reserved for jarls. Freja and Sofja sat at one end, flanked by other Greybeards. Brynjolf noticed Freja looked more tired than he'd ever seen her.
"It is time to inform you of the next step," Arngeir said gently, looking from the men to the women seated near to him at the table. "We have contacted an associate of ours who is…interested in aiding you in your journey. We task you with seeking out Delphine, the owner of the Sleeping Giant Inn, in Riverwood."
At this, Freja had to scoff. "You want us to find some barkeep? What does she have to do with the dragons?"
Arngeir simply waved her off. "She is much more than appearances might betray. Much like you, my child. Now, it is time for you to be on your way." With that, the Greybeards stood and exited the room, leaving Sofja, Freja, and their male companions standing dumbly in silence. When the Greybeards were finished, there was no questioning it.
The foursome made their way back down to Ivarstead, opting to rent two rooms at the local inn there than to travel straight to Riverwood or even Whiterun to speak with Jarl Balgruuf. The women were tired from their training, and after the day they'd all had, it seemed mutually agreed upon that they would all lose themselves in a pint of ale that night.
Sofja sat on the lumpy inn's bed, changed into a tunic and leggings, her fiery hair spilling out of her braid. Nothing had gone the way she'd planned. She thought she'd see the Greybeards alone, and then go to Riften. Yet as soon as she'd made the decision, couriers poured in from the southeastern holds begging for aid from the Jarl and from the Companions, and they'd gone to Riften. Now, Sofja barely had time to attend to the Companions, and she would be off running to Riverwood, and then Nine only knew where after that.
Vilkas sat down next to her, jolting her out of her thoughts. "Love, you seem troubled," he murmured, his voice husky. Sofja shot him a sideways glance. There was fire behind his eyes.
"Only slightly more than usual," she grinned.
Vilkas leaned towards her, his lips dancing over her ear. "Let me ease your mind," he whispered.
Sofja stood up quickly and headed for the door of their room, and for a moment, Vilkas deflated in disappointment. He had missed his young lover, and between the adventures of recent months, coupled with what was to come, he longed to feel her.
Yet looking up at her, he watched as she gingerly shut the beaten, wooden door to their room, ensuring their privacy. "There's something other than my mind that needs easing," she growled. In three strides, she was back to the bed, sitting on Vilkas' lap, her mouth overtaking his fiercely.
While Vilkas and Sofja fanned the flames of their passion, Freja and Brynjolf sat in front of the fire in the main room of the inn, the distance between them colder than ever.
Freja dared to steal a glance over at her Bryn, who himself stared without expression into the fire.
"How's Vex?" She murmured, desperate to connect with him in some way, though unable to find a way forward. Bryn turned his eyes towards Freja, eyeing her skeptically, before speaking.
"She's well," he began, a smile twitching at his lips. "Back in Delvin's bed — again. She's been widening her net, traveling more to hit better scores. Went as far as Windhelm, last I heard." He paused, taking a breath. "She was mad as hell when you'd gone, lass. Delvin, too."
Freja's chest tightened, half-ashamed at the realization that she'd left more than Brynjolf behind, who she assumed could handle it, and half-pleased that they cared for her enough to lament her absence. "I miss them both. I miss them all… Even Tonilia." At this, neither one could keep from laughing.
Catching each other's eyes, Brynjolf sighed, his fingertips running delicately over his face. "When this is over, I plan on having a guild to go back to. And despite our…circumstances," Brynjolf cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably at the thought of their soured romance, "you're one of our best. The guild needs you."
Freja nodded, staring back into the flames. In that moment, she was resolved: resolved to stop running, to fight the dragons head on, to get back to the only group of people who had ever loved her, and to win Brynjolf back, once and for all.
