The door opened, letting in the sunset light. The inside was lit up by the large mass of burning firewood in the center, and at the end of the large hall was a counter. The young bearded man stepped in; dusting off his armored shoulders and took a look around. It's been a while since he's been there; the last time was when he spent several weeks there during the war, to help try and get their defenses up against the Dragon that attacked his convoy in Helgen.

There was a woman there, he remembered her; she looked to be in her fifties, and she was the innkeeper. He approached her from behind and asked the question.

"Excuse me," he made himself known. The middle aged woman straightened her back and turned to him. "I'd like to rent the attic room." He could see her raise her eyebrow in question.

"Attic room? We don't have an attic room," she said. "But if you're still looking for rest, then you can have that room over there on the left." She pointed out the open door at the other end. The young man looked in that direction and pondered.

So there is no attic room, huh? What kind of joke was this 'friend' playing?

He agreed though; after days of horse riding, he was in need of a rest; he barely got any sleep now that he was back down to Nirn and traveling again; like he did in the Legion. He gave her 10 septims, no problem; all he wanted was to just lie down and sleep.

He went to his room, taking note of the surrounding. Fur bedding, drawer, end table, chair...

He stripped off his cape like bear and wolf fur, boots and steel chest plating and shoulders. He put on something more comfortable from his bag, a set of casual clothes that he would usually wear when not on duty or not traveling.

He sat himself on the wooden chair; the hard solid not very comfortable on his back but at that point it was better than not sitting down at all, and he found it relaxing regardless. He slouched, laying his head back and closing his eyes. His head tipped restlessly sideways, neck bending at the edge, he opened his eyes slightly to see a goblet on the side table.

He thought about that goblet, and what it was for. It was for drinking…drinking Ale and Mead or other good things that could quench his thirst, or quench his want for more Mead. He immediately pushed himself up and reached into his sack, pulling out a glass bottle of Nord Mead that he kept around with him.

It was like an addiction, only it wasn't; more like a hobby of his to drink alcoholic beverages, because he rarely ever lets himself get drunk. But it was the only thing he drank besides water: mead of all kinds. Honningbrew, Nord, Black-Briar…sometimes he would have fancier stuff, like what they created in his homeland, but he never cared much for it.

One of the better things that he cherished besides a drink was a drink with someone he knew. With his time in Skyrim, he hasn't made very many friends surprisingly, despite the fact that almost everyone in the Fourth Legion knew him, but he was never really close to anyone besides them praising him. He only kept a few close friends, most of them were in really high places. The commander of the Fourth Legion, Servius Tullius was one of them, they had grown a mutual respect for each other the more they fought during the war. Legate Rikke was another, despite being the one who would boss him and his Cohort around most of the time; but he respected her highly, just as she grew fond of him near the end of it all.

As he took the goblet, he poured the Nord mead in it and continued to think of the friends he has made.

There was the Jarl of Whiterun, Balgruuf the Greater. After his aid in defending the city from both a Dragon and the Stormcloaks, the Jarl also grew a great respect for him; and speaking of Jarls, he wonders when the next moot would come around. He knows Legate Rikke was assigned to a political position to instill new Jarls and maintain order in the restored Eastern Holds, but that would take quite a while, and when it's finished, order still needs to be maintained by the new Jarls until they could possibly continue their cooperation with the other holds.

The young man put the edge of the goblet up to his lips, letting the honey liquid seep in and down his throat. Going on about the friends…

There was Hadvar, the one he escaped with when he was overseeing an execution in Helgen when a Dragon attacked. He was wondering where that wise fool was…surely he'd be back in Riverwood now that the civil war was over. Hadvar's uncle, Alvor, the one that helped house him for the weeks that he spent in Riverwood when he was helping them out.

He gulped down a large portion of the drink, letting it warmly settle into his belly.

And then there was…mmh…Camilla Valerius, oh what a beautiful, sweet dame. After retrieving a Golden Claw of her and her brother, Lucan's, he and she had a…'thing.' Her brother didn't really know about it, and neither did the two men who were courting her at the time. From the pleasure that memory could allow him to remember, he is reminded of the time they went out into the woods next to the river; they found a cut off bark of a tree, got naked, and he bent her over the wood and…well, it's a pleasuring thought.

Unfortunately, they had to cut things between them short by the time he was recalled back into war, and he hadn't seen her since. He tried to visit her when he came back just a short while ago, but the Riverwood trader had a sign that said it was closed down in the meantime, and that they were out of the village; such a shame.

The bottom of the goblet was rested on the arm rest, the young man sliding back down to slouch, returning his head back and closing his eyes.

Another friend of his, one that he made a bond with solely through combat was one mercenary leader. She was a Dark Elf; Jenassa was her name. She was the deadliest and most accurate archer that he has ever laid eyes on, someone that he eventually got to know. He met her before the battle of Whiterun; how they made introductions and how his Cohort and her Mercenary unit cooperated in the defense of the gate. Her style of fighting fit an assassin, using her bow and arrows in creative ways and using something that is closely resembled to martial arts. She alone probably killed more enemies than his entire cohort did. He remembers seeing her get into a one on one un-interrupted duel wielding sword fight with the White Wolf.

Who was this White Wolf? She was one of the deadliest and most ruthless Stormcloak rebels from the entirety of the war, and one of their top commanders. She got the name through her snowy white hair, and the striking war paint that she had around her eyes that closely resembled a wolf, one that would bring fear into an enemy's heart. She was probably responsible for two of the three major Imperial defeats of the war, Blizzard Rest, and Valtheim.

But to see Jenassa defeat her only proves just how incredible the Dunmer woman was. He then led a beach assault with her at Cold Harbor, then took Windhelm with her; and along the way grew a battle bond.

All these thoughts brought a pleasant rush of happiness to him, and a smile formed on his near sleepy face.

Suddenly, his ears picked up the sound of the door quickly opening and shutting, and his body had a spasm in surprise, nearly spilling his drink. His eyes wide, he stared at the person who came in: the middle aged Breton woman he talked to earlier about the attic room that apparently wasn't there. The first thoughts came to his mind, and he had to speak them out.

"What!?" He let out. "What's going on?" The middle aged Breton woman shushed him.

"So you're the Dragonborn I've been hearing so much about?" She said. The young man raised an eyebrow, like she did before. How did she know that he was the Dragonborn? Unless…unless SHE was the one who left the note. Now what about the horn? As if she read his thoughts, she pulled out an old looking curvy horn from her back side. "I think you're looking for this," she then tossed it to him. He sprang, quickly setting aside his drink and cushioning the artifact to fall into his lap.

She…she just…threw a priceless artifact…

He looked up at her in horror at how careless she was of the value of this thing. Does she know how fragile that thing is? He wanted to say something to her, to scold her; but now he was too confused and all he could force out were stutters.

"I know you have a lot of questions, but first, please follow me," she turned out the door almost immediately. The young man just sat there for a moment watching her go out until realizing that he needed to follow her. Quickly he tucked the horn in a safe place in his bag, and grabbed the glass bottle of mead and quickly fast walked out after her.

"Hey wait!" He called, coming up beside her, leaning to get a look at her face. "Who are you?"

"This way," she said, walking through a door. The young man had missed the door frame from walking beside her and his head ran into the wall.

"Ow!" He rested a hand on the spot he hit, rubbing it. He then adjusted his position and moved through the door. On the other side, the middle aged Breton woman stood in front of a closet and then turned to him.

"Close the door behind you," she ordered. Hesitantly, he pulled his hand off of his hand and used it to pull the door closed. He turned back to see now that she had opened the closet doors, and…was moving into it. He could see her form beginning to descend until she was out of sight. The young man quickly walked to the frame to see that behind it was a flight of stairs that led down to some kind of…secret room.

Cautiously, he walked down, and upon entering the ground level, he looked around him. There was a weapon rack, chests, potions, enchanting table, alchemy table, and in the middle was a plain wooden table with a map on it, dozens of red marks over it. This was like…a WAR room.

Nervously, he took a sip of the mead in his hand, as the middle aged Breton leaned herself against the table just over the map.

"The Greybeards seem to think you're the Dragonborn," she said. "I hope they're right." The young man approached the table, setting down the mead.

"YOU'RE the one who took the horn?" He asked, kind of surprised.

"Surprised?" Almost as if she read his mind again. "I guess I'm getting pretty good at my harmless innkeeper act."

"What's with all the cloak and dagger?" He asked.

"I can't afford to lower my guard," she replied. "I had to make sure it wasn't a Thalmor trap." Thalmor? What did they have to do with this? "I'm not your enemy; I already gave you the horn. I'm actually trying to help you, I just need you to hear me out." Her tone sounded very serious, almost as if she was desperate for his attention.

"Well…" He said, picking up the mead again and taking another swig. "You have my attention."

"I had to know if the rumors about you were true," she said. He had to hold back a scoff; why were they rumors? It was basically a well-known fact, especially throughout the fourth Legion and his friends. "I'm part of a group that's been looking for you…well, someone like you, for a very long time. If you really are Dragonborn, that is. Before I tell you anymore, I need to make sure that I can trust you."

"What makes you think that I can trust YOU?" the young man turned the question on her. "We haven't even told each other our names yet!"

"Well if you don't trust me, you were a fool to walk in here in the first place," she said; and the young man agreed, she made a good point.

"Okay…" He said, his mind coming up with more questions. "Why did you take the horn?"

"I knew the Greybeards would send you there if they thought you were Dragonborn," she said. "They're nothing, if not predictable." With the way she said it, it seemed as if she had some distaste for the Greybeards. "When you showed up here, I knew you were the one the Greybeards sent, and not some Thalmor plant."

"Wait," he said. "You said Thalmor twice…what do they have to do with this?" The middle aged woman lowered her head for a moment.

"We've VERY old enemies," she said. "And if my suspicions are correct, they might have something to do with the Dragons returning. But that isn't important right now; what is important is that you must be the Dragonborn."

"Why are you looking for a Dragonborn?"

"We remember what most don't – that the Dragonborn is the ultimate Dragonslayer. You're the only one that can kill a Dragon permanently: by devouring its soul."

"Devouring its soul?" The man questioned, remembering the battle at the Watchtower. In a near whisper, he said to himself, "so THAT'S what I did…"

"You've done it haven't you? Killed a Dragon and devoured its soul." The man shrugged his shoulders.

"If you say so…"

"Well at least you'll have a chance to prove it to me soon enough." The young man had took another drink of his mead, and set it down, leaning over the table, his arms holding him up for support.

"So what's the part you aren't telling me?" He asked.

"The Dragons aren't just coming back," she replied. "They're coming back to LIFE. They weren't gone somewhere for all these years; they were dead, killed off centuries ago by my predecessors. Now something's happening to bring them back to life, and I need you to help me stop it." The young man chuckled.

"Do you know how crazy this sounds?" He said through chuckles, even though, for some reason, he believed every word of what she was saying. She chuckled as well.

"A few years ago, I said the same thing to a colleague of mine," she said. "Well, it turned out he was right and I was wrong." The young man sighed.

"So what makes you think the Dragons are coming back to life?" He was surely a man with a lot of questions.

"I KNOW they are," she replied. "I've visited their ancient burial mounds and found them empty; and I've figured out where the next one will be; and we're going to go there, and you're going to kill that Dragon. If we succeed, I'll tell you anything you want to know." The task and what it required…took him completely by surprise, and immediately he spoke out against it.

"Woah," he let out. "Are you saying we're going to just go and KILL a DRAGON? Just like that?" The Breton only glared at him.

"Well, YOU were able to do it before…"

"Well yeah, of course," he said. "Because at that time, I was leading seven legionaries with a joint force of eight Whiterun guards and we nearly got WIPED OUT!" She remained silent, continuing to glare at him. "Look, lady – whatever your name is – I'm flattered that you can put so much trust into my abilities as the Dragonborn, but I'm still just a man! I mean, I've had my fair share of killing and sword fights, but I'm still new to this Dragon stuff…" The middle aged woman crossed her arms.

"Then you're going to have to get used to it, especially now."

"So what?" He said. "Just the TWO of us are supposed to just waltz right in there, stab the asshole a couple of times and expect it to die?"

"Well, do you have a BETTER plan?" She questioned him, obviously annoyed. The young man went silent, pondering one of his usual thought. He grabbed the mead and took a sip of it, his thoughts beginning to clear up, and an idea came to his head, one that comes from tactful thinking.

"Actually, yes, I do," He said. The woman backed herself against the wall and leaned herself on it.

"Let's hear it then." The words immediately came through his mouth.

"If this is a dragon we're dealing with, then we need more people," he explained. "Some really good people, people I can trust…I tell you what, you tell me where that Dragon burial site is, you can do some recon, and I can bring the extra muscle; and when we're ready, we can strike; but it needs to be quick and brutal."

"And what makes you think 'extra muscle' is going to work? You've said it yourself: you led fifteen people to fight a dragon and you nearly got wiped out."

"But lady, I know these people; they can FIGHT! One of them is my best friend whom I fought with in the war, and the other is this amazing archer! Believe me, as long as they can follow our lead, and maintain the element of surprise, we may actually have a chance against this Dragon," he explained, his Legate's strategic mind being put to example.

After moments of thinking about it; the middle aged woman shrugged.

"Oh why not? I suppose we can take whatever help we can get," she said. "Like you said, I'll go ahead and do some reconnaissance; just get whoever you need, make sure they're ready, and get to Kynesgrove; and don't take too long."