Whiterun, Plains District

22nd of Last Seed

Sal-Gheel stepped onto the dark grass of the Hall of Valor's back lawn encircled by towering rocky cliffs and standing stones, clad head to toes in the bluish-silver armor of the Blades. His round shield hung on his right arm and his legendary katana, Dragonbane, he gripped in his left hand. He followed closely behind the Three Tongues to face a cloud of pale bluish fog that obstructed their view.

"We cannot fight the foe in this mist!" Felldir the Old remarked in dismay to the others.

"Clear Skies – combine our Shouts!" Gormlaith Golden-Hilt proclaimed at the top of her voice.

Sal summoned his strength, mustered the Shout from the depths of his soul, and felt the words collect in his throat.

"Lok Vah Koor!"

Clear Skies burst from the depths of his lungs through his mouth. It joined three more to strike the coat of mist head-on. It dissipated instantly from sight.

"VEN MUL RIIK!"

The fog materialized again, thicker, denser, bluer than before. Sal growled in frustration and tightened his grip on Dragonbane. But he did not say a word.

"Again!" Gormlaith shouted, trying to bolster the courage of the quartet.

"We can shatter his power if we Shout together!" Felldir added, his words encouraging, motivating, stimulating.

"Lok Vah Koor!"

Sal Shouted again, this time more forceful and mightier than the first.

"VEN MUL RIIK!"

But the commanding voice of Alduin covered the area in the mist a third time, ever broader, darker, murkier. Sal growled in irritation and held his round Blades shield protectively in front of his face. The Tongues did not falter.

"Does his strength have no end?" Hakon One-Eye asked; he sounded a mite desperate now, unlike the previous two. "Is our struggle in vain?"

"Stand fast!" Gormlaith prompted. "His strength is failing! Once more, and his might will be broken!"

"His power crumbles – do not pause for breath!" Felldir added. Sal sensed him building the power of the Thu'um in his spirit, as with the others.

He too conjured the essence of the Thu'um inside his mortal Argonian body.

He opened his mouth one final time.

"Lok Vah Koor!"

The blue mist evaporated to nothingness. Sal now clearly saw the untouched towering rocky cliffs and otherworldly stones of Sovngarde.

From the skies came the mammoth shape of an obsidian-black red-eyed Dragon –

"Sal-Gheel!"

Sal shook awake in the bed of the carriage. He lay sideways on the seat beside his belongings on the bed floor. He noticed the carriage stood motionless. The brown-and-white horse stood casually beside the entrance to the stables – the Whiterun stables, Sal noticed.

Sal gingerly pushed himself up into a sitting position, blinking rapidly as if trying to recall the fading image he'd seen in his dream (was it a dream?). Alfarinn stood on the ground below the carriage, staring at him in concern.

"Are you all right, Sal? We've made it to Whiterun."

Sal rubbed his head and opened his eyes wide. The gleaming glowing yellow, green, and light brown plains of Whiterun Hold filled his vision. An awed gasp escaped his mouth. His eyes sparkled in the noon sunlight and his face brightened to a dreamlike beam, a painted portrait of indescribable nostalgia.

"Whiterun..." Sal whispered, marveling.

"Yes, sir!" Alfarinn took some of Sal's bags and began taking them out of the carriage. "Don't feel bad about spending half the trip sleeping. We've only just arrived as of a few minutes ago. I figured it was best to let you have your rest."

Sal climbed out of the carriage and landed on the clean smooth yellow grass. He removed his snow boots and chuckled to feel the pure earth beneath his toes. He turned to Alfarinn, opened up the coinpurse tied to his belt, and pressed 20 Septims into the Nord's hand.

"Here, Alfarinn, for being the best carriage driver in all of Skyrim. Go buy something nice for yourself and your horse. If I see you in town later, I'll buy you a drink myself."

Alfarinn's eyes grew as round as the afternoon sun. His jaw dropped. He tried to form words, but stuttered and stammered in gobsmacked bewilderment. Sal laughed and walked off to where the horse stood still tied to the carriage.

"Hey there, Misty," Sal greeted the hardy bay horse, who neighed quite happily at his approach.

Sal reached out to cup Misty's delicate chin in his hands. "You've been such a brave horse. I'm so proud of you, girl. You must have been so bored just sitting around in the stables at Windhelm. Nothing else to do but eat delicious hay and exchange juicy gossip amongst the other horses. You jumped at the travel opportunity like a hummingbird to a Blue Mountain Flower. You have been amazing, Misty, braving the snows and cold of the mountains to reach the fields and warmth of the plains. Never once did I hear a complaint from you. You are the bravest horse I've ever known. Rest now, girl. Eat hay to your heart's content. You deserve it. Thank you so much again for bringing me to Whiterun, from the bottom of my heart."

Misty neighed in response and affectionately nudged Sal as if saying "you're welcome". Sal laughed as the horse's tongue swept over his scaly face. He wiped the saliva on his shirt and went to collect his bags.

As he took off down the road carrying his bags, he spied an open cloth tent. A friendly figure sat cross-legged on a colorful mat in front of it.

"Ri'saad!" Sal cried out. He stopped in front of the Khajiit. "By the gods, I haven't seen you in months! How've you been? How's your business?"

Ri'saad grinned broadly, showing his fangs in the sunlight and bristling his whiskers proudly. "Business has been bountiful, Sal-Gheel. The winds of Skyrim chill to the bones. But the constant flow of customers and coin warm my freezing fur. Your new presence makes the already golden day most glorious indeed."

Sal matched Ri'saad's picturesque grin with his Argonian fangs. "That's magnificent, Ri'saad. If you're not busy, I've got some things I'd like to sell. How about it?"

"This one is honored by your welcome patronage," Ri'saad humbly bowed his head and rubbed his paws together. "The nostalgia is strong and brings comfort to the soul. Ri'saad promises to give your treasures to anyone who needs them."

"As I'm sure you will, Ri'saad," Sal sold many of his unwanted junks, long-outdated things for which himself and the Argonians could find no further uses.

"I'm certain you'll put decent prices on these old relics. They don't look like much to me anymore, but to somebody with a prospective eye, they might as well be priceless antiques. Nothing's broken; I've kept everything in good condition. You just might want to give them a shiny coat of polish first before putting them up for sale."

"Junk to you are treasures to Khajiit, Sal-Gheel," Atahbah, one of Ri'saad's traveling companions, winked promisingly. "You never know what is possible in Khajiit's goods."

"We promise that these items shall find their way into the hands or paws of the needful and wanting, Sal-Gheel," added Ma'dran as he hefted a sharp Woodcutter's Axe in his paws, preparing to chop firewood. "Time, it seems, has not changed your always selfless and charitable heart."

"May your future paths be paved sacred, Sal-Gheel, for your unmeasured kindness," Ma'randru-jo nodded to bless Sal graciously. "Elsweyr's sands grant you their holy favor."

"Divines bless you, Sal-Gheel," Ri'saad's eyes glistened with tears of happiness. "You are bestowing a greater boon to Khajiit's business. May your road lead you to warm sands."

"The same to you, Ri'saad," Sal bowed as he stood back up. He nodded gladly at the companions. "To all of you. I hope your caravans continue to thrive and you find grand success in the mercantile world. Good day, my Khajiit friends."

He started back up the road and passed under the walls and fortifications. The Guards, instantly recognizing him, opened the Front Gate immediately.

When he entered the city, a wave of nostalgic homeliness swept over him. Sal breathed in the clear air of Whiterun and crossed over the bridge connecting the gate to the Plains District. Surprised and excited chatter from the villagers reached his ears.

"Is that...? Is that the Dragonborn? Do my eyes deceive me?"

"Your eyes do not deceive you at all! That is indeed the Dragonborn!"

"The Dragonborn, hurrah! The Dragonborn has returned to Whiterun! Hurrah!"

"Wow! The Dragonborn! Wait till I tell Mom and Dad about this!"

"Whoa, the Dragonborn!"

"Yippee, the Dragonborn is back! Yippee!"

"Look, Mama, it's the Dragonborn!"

"Yes, it is, sweetheart! The Dragonborn is home!"

Sal's mouth ached from grinning widely. He waved cheerfully to the Whiterun townspeople. "Thank you so much, everyone. It's great to be back!"

He stepped up a short walkway of horizontal stone pavers to a house in the middle of the street and softly knocked on the door.

A tall thin female Nord answered the door. She had smooth shoulder-length black hair and wore a long maroon jerkin with plain white sleeves and tied corset strings on the collar, and thin tan knee-length trousers complemented by a pair of scarlet gold-buttoned boots.

Before Sal knew it, she pulled him close into her arms. Sal dropped his bags and wrapped his arms around her, holding and stroking her hair comfortingly.

Lydia released Sal and held his face in her hands, staring deep in his eyes in wonder. "Sal-Gheel? Is it you?" Tears of happiness filled her eyes and a joyful smile pulled at her mouth.

Sal matched her smile and held her around the shoulders, rubbing her back comfortingly, his face a portrait of mixed relief and cheerfulness. "Yes, Lydia, it's me. I'm here! I'm back!"

"Sal-Gheel!" Lydia hugged him again, wrapping her arms around his neck and laying her head on his shoulder. Sal laughed heartily and held his former Housecarl and old dear friend close to him. Both Argonian and Nord wept tears of joy and laughed delightfully at this long-overdue reunion. They didn't even care about being exposed in front of the Whiterun villagers.

After a minute, Lydia released Sal and stepped aside to let him inside Breezehome. Sal picked up his bags and gladly entered his former home. He breathed in the comfortably homely air. A jovial fire roared and jumped merrily in the floor pit. Over it stood a mounted cooking pot full of bubbling soup. The house sparkled from ceiling to floor; not a single dust speck in sight. The firelight illuminated the wooden stairs leading up to the living quarters. Sal saw the door to the Alchemy lab in the far corner left slightly ajar. A bisected head of cabbage and an uncut slab of ox meat on a chopping board cluttered the wooden dining table.

Lydia rubbed the back of her head bashfully and closed the door behind Sal. "Sorry about the mess. I was preparing lunch for myself. I wasn't expecting company. I didn't know you were showing up."

She stepped abreast of Sal and reached out to gently touch his cheek. "It truly is you, Sal-Gheel. I'm so happy you've come back. I've dreamed for months of the day when we would see each other again. I do not doubt that my prayers have been answered."

She began rushing around the small house, packing things inside drawers and cupboards, and straightening the furniture and cookware. "I'm so sorry, Sal. If I had known in advance that you would be coming, I would've cleaned up. I've taken care of the house as best I can since you passed the ownership to me last year. I'm still doing my best to keep it in the best shape. I know it looks like a mess, but I didn't know you were coming to visit, and-,"

"Lydia," Sal grabbed her gently by the arm, chuckling. She whirled around to stare at him in confusion. "Breezehome looks perfect."

"Oh, thank the gods," Lydia exhaled in relief and held a hand to her heart. She took Sal's knapsacks. "Here, let me get these for you."

"Thank you, Lydia," Sal stared fondly after Lydia carrying his belongings upstairs. He succumbed to his compulsion to follow after her. He saw Lydia lay his knapsacks in the master bedroom beside the chest parallel to the bed, chock-full of their treasures, trinkets, loose change, and spare weapons and armor from their many travels.

Lydia wiped the dust from her hands and left the bedroom. "Come on, Sal. You must be starving." She patted him on the back and led him downstairs. "Make yourself at home and I'll make lunch for two."

Sal relaxed in a chair and sighed contently. He rested on the armrests and stared dreamily at the square-shaped fire to which Lydia added an extra log. He watched her finish chopping the cabbage and ox meat and add them to the cooking pot. Sal added a Salt Pile to enhance the flavor. He also filled two silver tankards of fine chilled Alto Wine. The delectable scents of cooked vegetables, meat, salt, and various spices swirled under their nostrils.

Feels like home, Sal thought happily to himself.

"So," Lydia scooped the completed soup into bowls and gave one to Sal. "What brings Sal-Gheel, the legendary Dragonborn, back to our humble Whiterun?" She sat down in the opposite chair.

Sal stirred and blew on his hot soup before taking a bite. He closed his eyes, savoring the heavenly taste created the flawless blend of all the ingredients. Then he sprinkled a bit more salt in his bowl.

"Well, some things have been happening lately, Lydia." His voice came slightly serious, a tone that even surprised him. He looked at Lydia square in the eyes. "I've been having some terrible nightmares. I can't sleep. I can hardly close my eyes. I keep thinking about Sovngarde and my last battle with Alduin. I just..."

He sighed stressfully and cradled his soup in his hands, staring lost in thought at the leaping yellow flames licking the underside of the copper cooking pot. "I can't get them out of my head. I haven't had a restful sleep in such a long while."

There was a sharp intake of breath from Lydia; a gasp of surprise, concern, and sympathy. She put down her spoon and reached across to squeeze Sal's hand. "Oh, Sal...I'm so sorry," she lowered her voice empathetically. "How long has this been going on?"

Sal wrapped his fingers around Lydia's consoling hand. "I don't know. A few weeks? A month? I've lost track. You'd think the Dragonborn would have no problem getting eight hours of sleep." He scoffed jokingly. "But I can't, Lydia, because I'm the Dragonborn."

Lydia sympathetically rubbed the back of Sal's scaly hand with her thumb, thinking deeply. She watched as he methodically ate his soup, relishing the exquisite cuisine as if trying to distract himself from his intrusive thoughts. "Sal, is there anything I can do to help you? I want to help. I'm your Housecarl and your friend. I want you to be free of these nightmares. Who else knows about them?"

Sal swallowed his bite of soup and washed it down with the Alto Wine. "Shahvee knows, and everyone else at the Assemblage."

Lydia laid her bowl on the table between the chairs and picked up a fire poker. "I'm glad that the Argonians know. They should. They're your family and they have every right to be concerned. They only want what's best for you, Sal." She never took her eyes off of Sal as she stoked the fire. "But you still haven't answered my question. Why did you come to Whiterun?"

Sal placed his tankard thoughtfully aside on the table and stared Lydia in the eyes again. "Because I need answers. I need the truth. I need to know why this is happening to me. What did I do to deserve this, and why is it happening to me now? What's the lesson I'm supposed to learn if there is one? Am I missing something, or is something missing me? Why did I not absorb Alduin's Dragon Soul when he died? Is he absolutely dead? Why did Sovngarde make an imprint on me? What is this supposed to mean?"

He clenched his fists tightly and growled to himself in utter tense confusion. "What...is happening...to me?!"

"Oh, gods!" Lydia dropped the fire poker on the floor. It clattered noisily on the wooden floor. Lydia took Sal's face back between her hands. "Sal! Listen to me, Sal!"

She locked her eyes on Sal, who shook in his chair, bewildered and shocked. "You're all right, Sal, okay? You're safe here. You are in no danger at all in Whiterun. Everything's fine. You're okay. I'm here for you. We'll solve this problem together, I promise."

A dark greyish fog of disorientation and perplexity filled Sal's mind. He barely heard Lydia's words of comfort and ease muffled by the shrill high-pitched ringing assaulting his ears. He trembled in his seat and suddenly clasped at the sides of his hanging head, hyperventilating and whispering in anguish under his breath, "Make them stop...make them stop...make them stop..."

"We will make them stop, Sal, I promise!" Lydia's tone turned desperate and she cradled Sal's face in her fingers. She slipped out of her chair and knelt in front of Sal, making quiet shushing sounds and stroking his cheeks.

"It's all right, Sal. You're not alone. I'm right here in front of you. I'm going to do my best to make the nightmares stop. I swear to the Divines I will!"

She lifted Sal's face with her thumbs. Her heart sank in her chest as she noticed Sal's eyes glistening with the faint hint of tears.

"Sal..." Lydia whispered empathetically. "Sal-Gheel..."

"Make..." Sal choked on his words, his voice cracked and weak. "Make them stop, Lydia..."

An idea sprang to Lydia's mind. She clasped Sal's hands in her own.

"Sal," her voice was gentle, soothing, consoling. "I want you to do something with me. It'll help you calm down and ease your mind. Can you do it, Sal?"

"I..." Sal croaked. She had never heard or seen the Argonian so scared and anxious in all the time she'd known him. Sal gulped and managed to say, "I'll try."

"Good." Lydia nodded and held Sal's fingers in hers. "I want you to take a deep breath in through your nose. Inhale..." She breathed deeply through her nose to demonstrate. "And exhale through your mouth." A drawn-out exhale followed it.

Sal breathed in sync with Lydia, first in through his nose. He felt his stomach expanding and air filling his lungs. Then he exhaled through his mouth, lengthy and unwound. Every muscle in his body relaxed. He sensed his mind clearing slightly and his heart slowing down to a safe rate. Lydia wiped a few beads of cold sweat from his temples.

"Again, Sal," she encouraged him. "As many breaths as you need."

She inhaled and Sal copied her in perfect rhythm. They exhaled together as one. Sal felt his anxieties dissipate away like momentary fire left to smolder. His riddled nerves floated away upon the clear empty wind of his exhale. He sighed, now eased and comforted. He felt somewhat at peace now.

Somewhat.

Lydia squeezed Sal's hands comfortingly. "Are you feeling better, Sal? We can do this exercise as many times as you need to, okay?"

Sal shuddered in his seat. Fleeting images of Sovngarde and the Hall of Valor...and Alduin the World-Eater brimmed in his mind. But he perceived little more than obscure outlines and flashes when he closed his eyes. He tried his best to push them back to the corners of his subconscious. He didn't want to worry Lydia.

"Thank you, Lydia," Sal thanked her honestly, his voice softer and more fully-formed now, the same as before. "That did make me feel better."

Lydia wrapped her arms around Sal consolingly. "You're welcome, Sal-Gheel. You know I'll never give up on you. You're my Thane and my best friend. I will never let you down. You know that. I am your sword and your shield, whether it be against Draugr or Dragons or terrifying nightmares. I am your defense against them all."

"I am ever grateful for you, Lydia," Sal whispered delicately back. "I always will be."

Lydia let go of him first, smiled kindly, then stood back up and returned to her chair. Picking her soup back up, she suggested, "Let's talk about something positive for a change. Tell me how Shahvee is doing."

Sal suddenly chuckled, a real lighthearted and loving chuckle at the mention of his beloved mate. "She's doing well, keeping healthy. I work the tanning rack while she's on her maternity leave. She's handling her pregnancy better than I and the others expected. I don't think I've ever seen any female Argonian endure a gestation period with such optimistic long-suffering in my life."

"That's amazing, Sal!" Lydia laughed, stirring her soup. "How many months along is she?"

Sal counted on his fingers. "4, I think, as of today." He nodded and resumed eating his soup, the delicacy of vegetables and meat bringing a different kind of homely comfort to his confused nerves. "She hasn't put out any eggs yet, though, but we're hoping."

"Wow..." Lydia gasped, fascinated. "I'm so happy for you two! Oh, Sal, you're going to be a father!" She laughed and playfully punched him in the shoulder.

Sal snorted and punched Lydia back. "Don't rub it in. Let time tell what kind I father I will be." He sipped and savored his fine Alto Wine.

They spent the rest of the mealtime exchanging gossip about Windhelm and Whiterun. Sal told Lydia of the news from Argonia. She gave him little morsels of romantic drama from Riverwood. Sal held his sides aching from laughter.

After they finished, Lydia collected the dirty dishes on the dining table to be washed in the canal later. She stood up and put her hands on her hips, staring at the front door of Breezehome. "You know, you should visit Jarl Balgruuf while you're here. I'm sure he'll be thrilled to see you."

"No doubt about that," Sal also sprang to his feet and drank the last of his wine. "I planned to do that after I visited you."

"Might as well let him know you're in town," Lydia nodded in agreement. "I was on my way out to the market after lunch before you showed up."

"I'll let you do that," Sal consented, stretching. "We'll rendezvous at the Bannered Mare for dinner?"

"That'd be perfect," Lydia hoisted a wicker basket under one arm and the strings of a coinpurse in the other. "I think you could use a break for a change. Maybe we'll do something fun to take your mind off things."

"Definitely," Sal snorted and opened the door for both of them. "Well, if there's nothing else, then I'll see you later."

Dragonsreach

The noble gold and tan Entrance Hall of Dragonsreach sprang up dramatically around Sal when he walked in through the doors. He straightened his clothes before ascending the short staircase up to the Great Hall.

Jarl Balgruuf sat on his throne in his usual back-leaning pose, one arm on the armrest, and the other bent upward. Proventus Avenicci stood to the left of the throne. Sal reached the summit of the staircase and saw both figures engaged in critical discussion. He warmed his hands patiently on the central rectangular fire pit that lit the palace. A female Dark Elf dressed in leather armor walked up to him.

"Irileth," Sal nodded and addressed her curtly.

"Sal-Gheel," Irileth returned the gesture in a stiff tone, putting her hands on her armored hips and leaning to one side beside the fire pit. "It's been a long while since you've last been in here. You're a sight for sore eyes."

"As are you, Irileth." Sal rubbed his hands together. "I've missed Whiterun. I figured I should come back again. Married life and hard work on the docks of Windhelm have kept me on my toes. I've needed a break for my reasons." He stared inquisitively at the Jarl and his advisor. "Is everything all right?"

"Oh, that," Irileth sighed and shook her head in confusion. "Just some rumors about problems in the court of Morthal. None of your concern."

"I see," Sal raised his palms to show his respect for their privacy. "I won't even ask."

After a few more minutes passed, Proventus walked off to head upstairs to the War Room. Sal seized his chance to come near to the throne. Jarl Balgruuf blinked at first. Then his face broke into a glowing grin.

"By the Nine..." Balgruuf marveled breathlessly. "Sal-Gheel? Is that you?"

"Jarl Balgruuf," Sal knelt on one knee before the Jarl, his head bowed humbly.

"Stand, old friend," Balgruuf casually commanded. "Let me see your strong Argonian face. Too much time has passed since you've last graced my halls with your mighty and legendary presence."

Sal obeyed and stood to his feet. He couldn't wipe the smile off his face. "I wholeheartedly agree, my Jarl. I just came from Breezehome to see Lydia. She suggested that I come to see you, for old times' sake."

Balgruuf laughed heartily and sat up straight, rubbing his chin. His old eyes twinkled nostalgically as if recalling some notable distant memory. "How you've grown, Sal-Gheel. It seems like only yesterday you asked me to trap a dragon in my castle."

Sal-Gheel shook his head and snickered. "All due respect, my Jarl. I asked you to help me trap a dragon in your castle. Besides, we pulled it off, didn't we? Odahviing acted surprisingly humble about it. Proud creatures Dragons are. But they're smart enough to know when they're beaten." He folded his arms and stared to the side pensively. "Unlike another Dragon I can name."

"Alduin the World-Eater..." Balgruuf whispered the name reverently in a low voice. Sal nodded but said nothing.

"What brings you to Whiterun, Sal-Gheel?" Balgruuf asked, noticing Sal drifting away in his thoughts. He laid his arms flat on the armrests.

Irileth took her stance on the right side of the throne. "Is something ailing you, Sal-Gheel? Is there trouble in Windhelm we should be concerned about?"

"Nothing of the sort, Irileth," Sal assured the Dunmer, a tad dazed. He forced himself back to reality and looked up at them. He bit his lips, wondering if he ought to tell them about his nightmares. Some instinct down in his gut twinged at him to decide against it.

"Sal-Gheel? Did someone say Sal-Gheel?"

Proventus Avenicci stepped down the left staircase from the War Room. He gaped at Sal in genuine surprise, but he clasped his hands in front of him and nodded at the Argonian formally.

"Proventus," Sal respectfully returned the gesture. "It's good to see you."

"Likewise, Sal-Gheel," Proventus regarded Sal befittingly, inclining his head and shoulders. "Keeping well, I trust?"

"Assiduously," Sal reassured Proventus, who took his position on the left side of Balgruuf's throne.

"You're certainly most forthright about your presence in Whiterun, Sal," Balgruuf observed. Sal, unoffended, only shrugged. "As bold now as you were the first time you stepped in through the doors of Dragonsreach and stood before my throne. I must say, I've always admired your resilience and boldness."

Sal nodded in humble agreement and dug his hands in the pockets of his trousers, leaning to one side casually. "I can't argue, Jarl Balgruuf. There is indeed an awful lot to admire about the Dragonborn. Perhaps too much."

"Please, Sal-Gheel," Proventus kindly offered. "If there is anything that we can do to make your stay here as comfortable as possible, all you have to do is ask."

Sal raised a scaly eyebrow at the Nord advisor, impressed. "That's oddly out of character for you, Proventus. As I recall, you were strongly opposed to me being Dragonborn. That was immediately after I slew a Dragon on the Western Watchtower right outside your gates."

Proventus blinked and snorted shamelessly. "I never doubted you for a second, Sal-Gheel!" He averted his gaze and stared up rather snobbishly across the palace. "I had full faith in you from the moment you asked that we send reinforcements to Riverwood to defend from a Dragon."

Sal raised his other eyebrow, trying his hardest internally not to laugh. "Are you sure about that? Because I recall the exact words that spilled from your mouth, Proventus, when I made my plea before the Jarl's throne to reinforce Riverwood."

Proventus scowled at Sal, who let the hint of a smirk pull at his lips. "And what, pray tell, was that? Do refresh my memory. It was a long time ago, so I don't quite remember."

Sal waved his hands in the air in a hammy – albeit agreeably accurate – imitation of Proventus. "The Jarl of Falkreath will view that as a provocation! He'll think we're preparing to join Ulfric's side and attack him!"

Jarl Balgruuf laughed out loud and playfully slapped his knee. Irileth smiled slightly and allowed herself a small chuckle. A few guards wandering about the space also joined in the joviality behind their helmets. Hrongar, seated at one of the grand dining tables, snickered into his goblet of red wine and plate of roast chicken.

"I mean, honestly, Proventus!" Sal put his hands on his hips and pretended to shake his head disapprovingly at Proventus. "How do you live with yourself after saying something ridiculous like that?"

Proventus shrugged innocently but didn't say a word. Jarl Balgruuf chuckled and leaned back on his throne. Irileth hefted her weapons on her belt and folded her arms authoritatively. Sal rolled his eyes and cupped his elbow in his other hand, falling once again into pondering.

"Ulfric Stormcloak is dead," Balgruuf thought aloud, resuming his sitting position from before. "Skyrim is free, and with Alduin the World-Eater vanquished and the Dragons pacified, we are at last at peace. What have we to fear now?"

"Nothing, my Jarl," Irileth answered boldly, hitting her fist to her chest and bowing her head. Proventus hummed and nodded in agreement.

"Sal-Gheel?" Balgruuf furrowed his brow in curious concern at the silent thinking Argonian. "Are you all right? You haven't said a word."

"What?" Sal blinked and dropped his hands by his sides. "Oh...My apologies, my Jarl." He hurriedly bowed his head apologetically. "I'm sorry, I'm just lost in thought. I have a lot of things on my mind, you see."

Balgruuf waved his hand dismissively. "No fault of yours, Sal. But understand that as a former citizen and friend of Whiterun, and the Dragonborn, of course, we have every right to be concerned for your well-being."

Dragonborn. The word resonated in Sal's mind, loud like a brass gong before receding to a delicate whisper.

"Is Farengar here?" Sal perked up and gazed off to the left side of the Great Hall. "I would like to see him while I'm here."

"Yes, Farengar is within," Irileth confirmed. She gestured to the court mage's room welcomingly, as if encouraging Sal to visit.

"Thank you, Irileth," Sal nodded at Balgruuf. "With your permission, my Jarl, I will visit Farengar."

"Of course, Sal-Gheel," Balgruuf nodded permissively, not moving from his throne. "Take all the time you need."

Sal thanked Balgruuf, pivoted on his heels, and strolled away to Farengar's Quarters.

"Farengar Secret-Fire!" Sal found the court mage leaning on his Enchanting Table, his back to the Argonian.

Farengar turned over his shoulder to see who had hailed him. Sal thought he saw the smallest hint of surprise beneath the Nord's thick blue hood.

"So, the great Dragonborn returns," Farengar straightened up and turned around from his Enchanting Table. "In the utmost honor and legendary glory, I expect."

"It's good to see you, too, Farengar," Sal nodded cordially at Farengar and stood behind the worktable. "I come to you with a question, if you're not too busy."

"How may I help you, Sal-Gheel?" Farengar asked, standing on the other side of the worktable. "Pardon the mess; I've been doing much enchanting work as of late."

"No problem, Farengar," Sal regarded the collection of miscellaneous items on the table. He stared at Farengar seriously. "What do you know about nightmares?"

Farengar pursed his lips in thought. For a couple of minutes, he said nothing. Sal caught the fleeting portrait of a dark foreboding expression on his face before it disappeared.

"Well, nightmares can mean anything," Farengar explained, rubbing his chin and staring down at his feet musingly. "They can be the effect of an overactive imagination, or the unfortunate and unintentional side effect of a magic curse, or perhaps even the influences of the Daedra on the mortal plane; namely, Vaermina, the Daedric Prince of Dreams and Nightmares. More often than not, nightmares carry messages of the past or future. They bear an underlying aura of post- or precognition."

He glanced up at Sal, his interest piqued. "Have you perchance crossed anyone adept in the magical arts as of late? Have you spoken face-to-face with a Daedra recently?"

Sal knew his answers before Farengar finished the questions. "No, I have done nothing of the sort recently, Farengar. I doubt that whatever is afflicting me is due to a Daedric influence."

"Then that narrows down the cause quite significantly," Farengar mused, rubbing his chin again with his other hand. "I'd honestly hate to think that you, Sal-Gheel, the all-powerful legendary Dragonborn, would suffer from nightmares, such trivial things they are."

Sal crushed the urge to scoff and planted his palms on the edge of the table demandingly. "Farengar, nightmares are never trivial. From my experience as the Dragonborn, I can attest to a truth that for ordinary people in Skyrim, nightmares pass in time and leave no marks on the mind."

His voice rose in volume and power slightly, almost to a point of anger. "But for me, an ordinary Argonian gifted with extraordinary powers given to me by Akatosh himself, my nightmares can't be anything of that sort. Mine are more persistent, more chronic, and full of messages. As the court mage and the leading expert on Dragons, I need your help to interpret them."

Farengar briefly peeked at his Enchanting Table and Alchemy Laboratory, and then back at Sal. "I'm sorry, Dragonborn. At any other time, I'd be both honored and more than willing to help you. But as you can see, I'm far too busy-,"

"Farengar!"

Now Sal shouted the mage's name at the top of his lungs. Farengar saw the Argonian glaring. Flames of anger burned in his plain white eyes and cyan irises. Sal heaved furiously, seething with irritable impatience, a cocktail of anger boiling in his body.

"Listen to me, for Divines' sake!" Sal-Gheel bellowed at Farengar with the unmistakable roar of a Dragon. His lizard tail slapped the floor impatiently."This isn't my little fetch quest for you at Bleak Falls Barrow to find that Dragonstone! This is much worse than you think! Just tell me what is wrong!"

Farengar, noticeably taken aback, gaped at Sal for a short moment. Then he composed himself and cleared his throat, turning back towards his Enchanting Table and Alchemy Laboratory. "Right, Sal-Gheel. Yes, I understand. You're not interested in a fetch quest as in the past. This is the future. You helped me, and now it's time for me to help you. I fully understand. I will help you the best I can."

He began rummaging around on his adjacent worktables, muttering discreetly to himself and organizing his possessions. "Come over here."

Sal gathered his wits and shut his eyes. He lowered his head and took a moment to center himself mentally and emotionally. The boiling cocktail in his chest cooled to a more controllable temperature. He opened eyes and carefully skirted around the floor littered with enchanted items to join Farengar inside the workspace. Farengar gathered his alchemy ingredients and enchantments and put them aside.

"So, we know that your nightmares, whatever they are, are neither the result of a carried-away imagination nor the machinations of a Daedric Prince." Farengar contemplated, not turning his back to Sal and continuing to clean his tables. "No magic is involved that is causing your night terrors. We have little criteria to go on. I need you to tell me as many details as you are willing to share, Sal-Gheel. That way, I can concoct some remedy to help keep your nightmares at bay, for a time."

"I went to Sovngarde," Sal explained bluntly, his face a stony expression. "I traveled to Skuldafn on Odahviing's back and fell through a portal to Sovngarde." He curled his tail and tapped it lightly on the rug in displeasure.

"And there I presume you fought and defeated Alduin the World-Eater?" Farengar turned and faced Sal. He asked out of an authentic desire to know the truth and not an attempt to mock Sal's past endeavors as Dragonborn.

"Yes, Farengar," Sal nodded, feeling himself relaxing. He exhaled through his lizard nostrils in relief, his chest deflating. "That's the long and short of it."

"Hmm..." Farengar clasped his fingers together and studied Sal closely. "That further eliminates the Vaermina power acting on you. That means only one thing: these nightmares are the result of your own choices, your mind reacting and unable to forget what you did in Sovngarde and the repercussions thereof."

"As the Dragonborn, I had my destiny to fulfill," Sal elucidated desperately, his anger rising mildly once more. "If I had done nothing, Alduin would've swallowed Nirn and left naught but ruin in its wake. What else could I have done?"

"Then your memories are to blame," Farengar proposed, now theorizing. He waved his hand dismissively. "It's your mind unable to sort out its long-term memory; the barriers between it and your short-term memory are becoming blurred, to the point of being nonexistent."

Sal growled and clenched his fists. "Oh, yes, thank you so much, Farengar." His voice dripped harsh sarcasm. "That's most enlightening."

"I'm trying to help you, Sal," Farengar's voice remained calm and composed. "I am offering my authentic aid out of the goodness of my heart. As I said, you helped me. Now let me help you."

When Sal said nothing in response, Farengar adopted an advising mentor-like tone of voice. "Here's the best I can think of, Dragonborn. Retrace your steps. Go back to the beginning, to where it all started. Follow the path through your memories and see where it leads you. If it leads you through the same path as a year ago, then remember how you navigated it the first time and traverse it unchanged. If it leads you elsewhere, then step into the unknown without fear. Remember, you are the Dragonborn. You are capable of anything and everything. Your defeat of Alduin in Sovngarde has proven that beyond the shadow of a doubt."

"I am the Dragonborn..." Sal repeated, whispering to himself, averting his eyes from Farengar self-consciously. "I have the power of the Voice. I can do anything and everything."

"Sometimes, Sal-Gheel," Farengar added in an uncharacteristic solemnity. "All it takes to cure these nightmares is less holding onto your self-doubt. That's what courage is: the absence of self-doubt."

Sal nodded brusquely, unable to disagree. "You're right, Farengar," he admitted sincerely. "You're right. I will meditate on your words."

"The key is being fearless of your mind, Sal-Gheel," Farengar concluded, staring at Sal seriously. "Trust your feelings. Your mind may play tricks on you. But your heart never lies."

"You're the academic, Farengar," Sal pointed out innocently. "Shouldn't you believe the other way around?"

Farengar shook his head in disagreement. "Oftentimes, it's the heart that makes the real beneficial decisions. The mind accepts the consequences."

"Or vice versa," Sal muttered, to which Farengar nodded reluctantly. He turned and put his hands in his pockets, silently making his way back to the Great Hall. At the entrance of Farengar's study, he turned to face the Nord mage.

"Thank you, Farengar, for your help. I mean that from the bottom of my heart. I'm sorry for my harshness earlier. I just haven't been in the best mood lately."

Farengar gave Sal a rare empathetic smile. "All the more reason why you needed help, Sal-Gheel. Go and ponder on my words. Tell me what you find. Divines bless you, Sal."

"You as well, Farengar," Sal bowed and left the study.

On his way across the Great Hall to the summit of the stairs, he heard Balgruuf call to him, "May the gods watch over your battles, Sal-Gheel."

Sal stopped at the first stair, clueless. He took a deep breath, then gingerly let it out.

"I certainly hope so," he whispered anxiously to himself.