The white dragon gazed out over the snowy landscape of Keizaal, his head raised to the breeze for the warmth of the sun. His claws dug idly into the Qethsegol he'd claimed as his, thinking, considering.
The wall under him trembled. He perked up, and he gazed over at the Break, flames beginning to lick at his teeth.
The Break began to expand.
Two weeks later...
Haldis had always dreamed of seeing Whiterun up close. From the monastery, Ahrolsedovah , or Dragonsreach in the Imperial tongue, and the city beneath it seemed so puny, but now that she was standing inside its gates, it seemed impossibly huge. She took a deep breath, and she started walking.
It was late in the afternoon when she arrived. Her legs were burning from the incredible trek through the mountains; she wasn't very fit from spending her whole life meditating and she didn't have enough money to buy a horse, so the trip from High Hrothgar to Whiterun was unbelievably tedious.
The city's tavern, named "The Bannered Mare" after Whiterun's coat of arms, was just down the street from the gate, so she made her way down to the inn to book a room, as she'd been instructed to do. The inn was bustling with patrons of all colors, and quite literally. The crowd was mostly human, Nord, like her, Imperials, even a Redguard, but there were a handful of elves, as well, that she'd never seen. She couldn't help but stare at the Dunmer mercenary lingering by the door as she booked her room for the night, only to snap back to attention when she received a dirty look.
Her room was quite nice, overlooking the bar-room of the tavern, and it had a huge bed with a straw mattress instead of stone. If it weren't for how hungry she was and how sick she felt, Haldis would have just gone to sleep right there. But she couldn't. She needed a way to make money quickly, if she was going to survive in civilization. She sat up on the edge of the bed.
She smoothed her hair back, trying to think.
Just go to the Jarl in a day or two and see how you can help with the Alduin problem. As good a start as any to bringing the Nordic god of destruction to his knees, right?
She didn't know where to start, other than that. She slumped forward and rubbed her eyes.
She could still picture the black-winged death crash-landing from the peak of the Monahven, could still picture those eyes, gleaming like rubies, staring into the souls of the Greybeards who beheld him in terror. Alduin took off before Haldis could even think to do anything about it, before she could strike him down in his moment of weakness. She had so many questions racing through her mind at the time, her head buzzed. How did Alduin appear? Where did he come from? What happened? Was Paarthurnax injured somehow?
Paarthurnax refused to answer her questions after the fact, blocking the gate to his den with the wild wind of his Thu'um, too busy meditating. That left her to descending the Monahven to deal with the cities and find her own way to deal with Alduin.
She shook her head. It didn't matter at the moment. What mattered, now that Paarthurnax had turned his back on her, was that she needed to find her own way. And what mattered in the moment was that she was ravenously hungry. She didn't know how to hunt, so she was glad to have read her books on Skyrim's flora as a child. While the fiber within dandelion stems and blisterwort caps weren't exactly filling, it was enough to get her by between towns when her meek provisions of jerky and dried fruits ran out.
She nudged her bags under the bed and draped the blanket over the gap between the frame and the floor to hide them, then got up to head back downstairs.
She ended up stuffing herself with a venison roast the Mare's cook had prepared that evening until she was ill and cramped. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had fresh meat, and with how good and new it tasted, she didn't even pay any mind of how the striations stuck between her teeth.
A sudden rapping sounded at the door. Haldis perked up from her bed. "Yes?" she croaked out in a yawn.
"You need to wake up, darling," came the voice of Hulda, the Mare's owner. "Saadia needs to clean that room." Haldis blinked the sleep out of her eyes and sniffed.
"What time is it?"
"Half past noon." Haldis's stomach churned. Too late. "I have other patrons who want this room. Please don't make them wait." She hopped up out of bed and started fumbling for her clothes.
"R-right! Sorry!"
She yanked her skirt and tunic on, laced up her boots, haphazardly threw all her belongings into her travel bag, and dipped out the door.
Whiterun was a bright city, divided into three districts; Plains, Wind, and Cloud. The streets of the Plains District marketplace were clean and tidy and the patches of grass that lined them were well-manicured. The area around the Temple of Kynareth was even more beautiful, in spite of the dead tree that towered over the residential Wind District. Over the Wind District was the palace that made up the Cloud District, Dragonsreach, the home of Whiterun's long line of Jarls.
Haldis gazed up at the hold in awe from the base of the temple's holy tree as a street priest jabbered on and on about the Nordic god of mortality, whose worship had apparently been forbidden. She gripped the strap of her bag, hoisted it more firmly over her shoulder, and started up the stairs to Dragonsreach.
She recalled the legend Arngeir regaled her with when she was a little girl, of Numinex and Olaf One-Eye, the Dragon-Killer King, how Olaf crippled Numinex at Mount Anthor and brought him to Dragonsreach, where he kept the dragon as a pet until he died. She'd grown to hate how the story ended. Dragons seemed so pretty and intelligent and peaceful to her, not something to ever keep chained up or mock.
And to her dismay, when she passed through the massive doors into the palace, it seemed the story was true, for the horned skull of a dragon stood mounted upon the wall above the Jarl's throne.
One of his stewards, an Imperial, was belting out reports of chaos in Falkreath hold and advancements of the rebellion in the east. As Haldis gingerly approached, the housecarl, a fierce-looking Dunmer armed with a drawn shortsword, strode up to her.
"What is the meaning of this interruption?" she seethed. Haldis stopped dead in her tracks. "Jarl Balgruuf is not receiving visitors."
Her mouth went dry. "I…" She took a deep breath and righted her posture. "I'm looking to help the Jarl with the Dragon problem." The Dunmer shook her head and strode up to Haldis and grabbed her arm to escort her out.
"No. My Jarl is already occupied-"
"Irileth!" Irileth stopped and turned to look at the one who beckoned her.
"Yes, my Jarl?"
"Bring the visitor to me."
Irileth pivoted on her heel and guided, more like manhandled, Haldis up to the foot of Balgruuf's throne. Balgruuf waved his steward to the side and sat up. He was lean, with a head of long, blonde hair and dark eyes that flicked up and down Haldis's form.
"You say you can help us with the ongoing crisis?" he murmured, his voice lain thick with a Nordic accent.
Haldis bit her cheek. "Yes. I can." She warily eyed a brooding Irileth, then bowed her head. "I am Haldis Ragnardottir. I hail from Falkreath's pine forest, and I was recently in training with the Greybeards of High Hrothgar. I believe my…" She paused. " talents might be useful to you."
Balgruuf's brows raised. "High Hrothgar?" He thoughtfully gripped his chin. "It's been long since I last walked the Seven Thousand Steps, and I was unaware the Greybeards would accept a woman into their fold. If you can Shout, I can certainly make use of you."
"My association with the Greybeards isn't a coincidence with the return of the dragons. I am the last Dragonborn of Akatosh's bloodline, and I need to be able to help any way I can." The chattering of the consuls and the steward went silent.
Balgruuf took a long time to respond to that. "I'd be a fool to refuse you." He stood up and looked to Irileth. "Irileth, send detachments to Riverwood and Rorikstead at once." Irileth bowed her head.
"Yes, my Jarl." She turned and went pacing down to Dragonsreach's doors.
"My Jarl, if I may…" The steward piped up from the consuls. Balgruuf nodded for him to continue. "If we are posting troops in the most distant towns, Jarl Siddgeir may take this as a front that you are accepting Ulfric's troops into Whiterun. I'd recommend that you reconsider…"
Balgruuf waved him off. "That's enough, Proventus. I'll not stand idly by while dragons burn my hold and slaughter my people. Jarl Siddgeir already lost Helgen to the crisis. I'll not repeat his mistake." Proventus sighed.
"Very well, my Jarl."
Balgruuf gestured to Haldis. "There is something you can do for me, and I think your talents would be of use." He looked her up and down again, squinted. "Have you a weapon?"
Haldis blanked. "N-no."
Balgruuf hummed gruffly. "Follow me, then. You're going to need one."
Haldis trailed after him loosely as he led her out of the main hall and up into the second floor of the palace. He stopped in an expansive armory and ordered her to wait by the door. She leaned against the frame and watched him as he paced along the wall lined with various weapons.
"Tell me, what is your preferred weapon?" he asked.
Haldis didn't know how to answer, so she simply went with the first thing that came to her mind, "A… An axe." He nodded, and pulled a single-handed war axe off the wall rack, then came back over to hand it to her. She took it from him with a trembling hand, as if the handle was made of glass, and she looked up at him.
He smirked a little bit. "Wield it well, Lady Dragonborn."