Chapter 3:
A glaze of orange rays lit the dark behind Kian's eyelids, and with a groan he blinked them open to a room now clearly visible in the noon light. For a moment, the warrior blinked and stared slack jawed at the empty space in front of him before his mind at last began turning. With a shake of his head and a sudden jolt of conscious thought, Kian lifted the thick curtains covering the window beside his bed and was greeted with the bustling streets of Whiterun.
"Noon already?" he murmured to himself. "Gods, I must have been tired." A sudden yawn was his body's only response.
The dragonborn flopped rather ungracefully onto his back, and locked eyes with the wooden boards that made up the ceiling. His muscles lacked any motivation to hoist himself from bed, and Kian could find no strength in his mind to force them. Today was a day he felt best spent in bed. The winter months were soon approaching, and the air even in midday was crisp and chilled. Here, at least, the sheets and mattress were warm and snug around his body, spreading a pleasant heat through the core of his being.
In fact, his chest felt rather too warm. Lifting the blankets, the dovakiin was met with a black ball of smooth scales curled tightly in on itself and resting upon his stomach. Kian let out a groan as his head hit the pillow once more.
Yes, the dragon hatchling. Something still had to be done about this. Well shit, now he would have to get up.
He lifted the blankets once again to get a better look at the hatchling nestled on his bed clothes. Kian sighed with a mixture of fondness and exasperation in his voice. He still had no idea how to feel about the situation. Sure, the little thing had wriggled his scaly way onto the dragonborn's good side, and Kian had no qualms about the moral choice he had made, but there was still the question of what next.
Where do you house a dragon? Certainly not in a well-known city full of people and little open space. What do you feed them when they're this young? How do you raise one to begin with? The imperial's mind boggled at all the implications of housing this young beast, and not for the first time he contemplated if he was in over his head.
Scarn still lay in his balled up position, letting out little snores with each exhale of his breath. Curious, Kian gently let a hand hover just slightly above the dragon's back. A low heat radiated off the coal colored scales. So that extra warmth was the dragon. Odd; it was as if the flames from within the beast were raising the temperature of its whole body, like a furnace warming its container.
Scarn shuffled in his sleep, and unconsciously reached his neck out towards the hand placed motionless above his sleeping spot. Kian smiled to himself as he lowered his palm so the dragon could snuggle into it. The dovakiin felt his mind settle in that small moment he spent stroking his new dragon, and reminded himself of what the greybeards had taught him during his visits to High Hrothgar.
Focusing too closely on the details of a situation will blind you to the answers. Some things come with time and patience; do what you can now, and solutions will come to you when they will. Never forget; dragonborn or no, you are still a man, and can only do so much.
Arngeir had proved to be a welcome source of advice and guidance to Kian when the weight of destiny seemed too much to carry, and that conversation had been a particularly necessary one when it became clear to the voice masters that their dragonborn was starting to run himself ragged with quests.
Using another technique he had been taught, Kian took a deep breath to regain his focus, and rose to a sitting position on his bed. Scarn gave an indignant squawk as his bed moved and evicted him to his lap. Moving the dragon onto the mattress itself, Kian rose and stretched himself out in preparation for the day.
"There's no time to sleep in, little one. We have problems to solve, and answers to find that need to be found now." As the adventurer moved about the room to dress himself, he took stock of the day's necessities.
"Research is probably the most important tool we have at this point. If I'm going to care for you properly, I need a better understanding of how dragons work. We can start in the Dragonsreach library. The Jarl's wizard has been particularly fascinated with dragons, so he should have something we can work with. Balgruuf needs to be told of the dragon eggs as well; so we can kill two birds with one stone. If their books turn up nothing, we can always head to High Hrothgar and ask the greybeards themselves; they have more history with the dragons than anyone."
Kian turned back to Scarn, who was watching him with unfocused, sleepy eyes.
"And… I guess I need to find a better place to keep you. You won't be this small forever; I know that much. And there's no way I can keep you from Lydia forever; that woman is too smart for her own good sometimes."
It could have been the last remints of sleep hazing Kian's mind, but it seemed as though Scarn's expression turned saddened at his last statement. Kian paused and rubbed at the scruff beginning to grow along his chin.
"Well, that may be something we can figure out later. You only hatched yesterday, after all. How big can you get in a few weeks' time?"
The imperial stood before a dusty mirror hanging on one of the walls in his room, adjusting the traveling cloak over his shoulders and taking one last look at his appearance before hoisting a now emptied traveling back to his shoulders. Now his attention turned to the black dragon hatchling sitting on the dresser top before him, a new problem presenting itself; leave the dragon, or take it with him?
"Hrm… leaving you here seems too dangerous; who would feed you when you got hungry? And if Lydia is still hanging around the house during the day and you start causing a ruckus, it would be over for you for sure. Gah, but the outside is dangerous, too. It would be hell for you I'm sure to be crammed in a pocket the whole day, and any pickpocket could discover your hiding space. Not to mention; if I get into a fight you could be vulnerable to a hit inside of my cloak…"
In the end, Kian decided keeping Scarn close to him was a better decision than leaving him locked in a room for anyone to find. So he packed a blanket inside the bottom of his pack, and settled the little dragon inside of it. Luckily, Kian suspected Scarn was more intelligent than he looked, as he allowed himself to be handled into the makeshift nest and put up no protest when the cover was clipped on and lifted back to the dragonborn's shoulders.
"Alright boy, hang on and keep quiet, we're heading out."
After dodging Lydia's questions about breakfast, only appeasing her by grabbing an apple and a slice of buttered bread as he headed out the door, Kian made his trek through the main streets of Whiterun. Today was just as busy as any other. The town's citizens bustled about their daily business, venders tended to stalls and shops, and children ran about in troops off to cause some kind of disturbance he was sure. The young citizens of Whiterun could be rather troublesome if they felt like it.
Kian sauntered down the roads with the usual demeanor of confidence he displayed. Guards acknowledged his passing with a slight bow and a quick "My Thane," before moving on their rounds. Things had come a long way from his arrival at Skyrim, when he had been carted into Helgen bound in rags as a criminal. And yet, as he spotted the Battle-borns once again caught in an argument with one of the Gray-manes, it seemed very little would change. The dovakiin decided on a quick detour to keep the peace in Whiterun; the Jarl would still be in his keep when he finished.
"Alright boys, back away from the stand." The adventurer thrust an arm between the wooden counter and one of the Battle-borns, forcing the group to step back from the elderly woman standing behind it.
"I thought we had an agreement that there would be no more harassing of Fralia behind the stand, especially not during heavy business hours."
"Pfa, bug off, Kian. You've always had a soft spot for those Gray-manes, and I see it still hasn't changed."
The leader of the group jabbed an accusatory finger towards the dovakiin's chest. It was clear to see that both he and his companions were rather drunk on rage at this point into the confrontation. This would have to be handled with a bit of intimidation after all.
"Idolaf, you know that's not fair. I've given you and your family my ear many times before, but I will not stand for this feud of yours when it condones obstructing the business of an elderly member of Whiterun. You and your brothers need to cool down. I suggest you leave before I get the guards involved. Again."
Idolaf stepped farther back, squeezing his eyes shut and growling in frustration, before motioning to the other Battle-borns and stalking angrily out of the square. Kian watched them go with a mix of pity and disappointment. Idolaf and the others were good people, he could see that plain as day. But their stubborn loyalty to their side of the conflict blinded them to fact that the people they fought against were human, too. The first thing the man had asked Kian upon his arrival to Whiterun was 'Gray-mane or Battle-born?' and had quickly been declared one of the stupidest things Kian had ever been asked.
"Thank you for stopping those brutes again, Kian."
Though they certainly weren't the only one.
"Of course, Fralia. They have no right to keep you from your customers like that."
The old lady smiled kindly at him.
"You've always been such a good friend to the Gray-manes."
Kian shook his head again as he helped Fralia straighten the items that had been toppled across the counter space.
"Not just to you, Fralia, I'm Thane of Whiterun; my job is to help any citizen of this town."
"Well, yes, but you've done so much to help us pull one over the Battle-borns, what with how you grabbed those documents from- "
'Fralia, please!" Kian interrupted her tirade, looking around to make sure none had heard her almost declaration of theft, especially any Battle-borns. "I don't help you because I want to pick sides; I believed it was wrong for them to hold your son unduly captive when he had yet to do anything wrong. I still believe the Battle-borns are a good family, just with misguided principles."
Fralia merely shook her head with a sad smile.
"How can a man who has seen so much still be so naïvely optimistic…"
"It's just a part of my charm, dear." Kian jibbed with a smile.
Fralia chuckled in response. "If you have the time, feel free to stop by the house for dinner tonight. I'm sure the boys would like to thank you properly for what you've done for us."
"I'll think about it. For now, I must get to see the Jarl."
"Another time then, my Thane."
The steps up Dragonsreach were always a climb, and Kian felt as if he had scaled the Throat of the World itself by the time he came to the large castle doors. He hesitated for a moment before them, and the fortress suddenly felt as strange and daunting as his first trip within. Swallowing his nerves, the dragonborn pushed the doors open with a loud creak.
The main hall within Dragonsreach was warm as always, with a grand hearth burning in its center, surrounded by tables. A few guards and soldiers looked up at his entry, but after seeing the familiar face, they turned back to their work. Kian made his way past the set out food and drink and up to the stairs the Jarl's throne was perched above. The hall felt longer than the last time he had walked it, and the dragonborn was hyperaware of the weight within his travel pack.
Now barely keeping a lid on panic, Kian stood before Jarl Balgruuf with a dry mouth and no idea what to say. The Jarl was generally a very relaxed man, evident in even his stance. Almost laying across the arms of his chair with legs stretched out across the floor and a hand propping up his head. Now, he was looking into the hall's fire pit with a glazed look in his eye as his steward prattled on about something or other. Both Kian and Balgruuf were of similar opinion that Proventus could go on about rather inane topics.
Kian stood slightly off to the side, arms folded behind his back, waiting for Proventus to finish. The Jarl blinked and caught sight of his Thane from the corner of his vision. With an urgent hand, he silenced the steward and waved him off.
"Ah, Kian! Nice to see my dragonborn once again. It's been some time since you've stopped by, hasn't it?"
"Still not your dragonborn, Balgruuf." Kian said with a smirk. The exchange had become a private joke since he helped deter the Stormcloaks from conquering Whiterun. Though, quickly, his expression became serious.
"I have matters do discuss, about the… dragons."
"So? Speak, Thane, or did the dragons steal your tongue?"
"Actually, Jarl, I believe we should speak in private. It would not do for this to spread across the town and cause preemptive panic."
The Jarl's face grew somber. He wordlessly stood, and led the way up the stairs into the strategy room. A few other soldiers littered the room, wondering about or chatting between each other. They all turned to watch as the Jarl and Thane entered the room.
"Clear out. Everyone."
Balgruuf's voice was not harsh or angered, but the command was given with such short snappiness, all those within the room left with quickness.
"Alright, Kian, I think I best sit down for this one."
"You'd be right, Jarl, I think this could change the nature of our war entirely."
Atop a mountain that bordered a small village on the fringes of Skyrim, a shadow covers the door to an ancient tomb. A black form with leathery wings and a set of horns that topped his head like a crown surveyed the entrance with a fiery red gaze. There was no need to open the door. The smells that permeated the air told him all he need to know. Or, the absence of smells did.
The tomb was empty, no doubt about it. There was not a sign of life to be found. Except for one. A single trail that entered and came out again. A scent he had smelled before; one of his own blood, but that was not one of his own. One who had proved to be his enemy time and time again. A low growl that could shake the earth rumbled from a mouth filled with sharp teeth.
He had suffered humiliation at the hands of this one time and time again. This was the last wound he would take from this flea. Now, more than ever, he and the rest of his kind would bow before their true betters; or burn in their flames.
"Dragonborn… we will finish this."
With a mighty flap of wings, the shadow leaves his perch and vanishes into the sky.