Epilogue

Delphine watched closely as the dragon perched atop the Western Watchtower. It had not been easy tracking it from Riverwood. Like tracking anything that could fly, really, it was a matter of moving fast and being lucky. She had always been able to move quickly over harsh country, even growing up in the Great Forest of Cyrodiil as a girl. She was not usually very lucky, though. Blades knew better than to depend on luck, usually. But this time, without any other choice, she'd been fortunate.

She had no clue as to how Aleron had tracked the thing. She knew that neither of the other two was known for woodworthiness. But despite all her letters to contacts in County Chorrol, she knew next to nothing of Aleron. She knew that he was a murderer, and that Gregory had taken a special interest in him - there was no other reason why the brothers would be so secretive about him; but other than that, he was a mystery. He claimed to be the son of Tor, but that could mean anything. But put together, there could only be one conclusion. Gregory had thought this boy might be dragonborn.

That was the only explanation for Gregory, for how he could have lived so long. Anything else, and he would never have betrayed the Blades. That was also obvious, now; Gregory had been the one who betrayed the Blades' agents to the Thalmor almost thirty years ago. She would not have thought that of him. He was a cynical bastard, and a master manipulator - he'd been considered the best negotiator in all of the order - but she had always thought the old man loyal to the Empire. But if he had been watching Tor… that Nord would have been worth everything to Gregory.

Clearly Tor had been a lost cause, but his son?

She saw the boy talking to the dragon. She'd almost rushed out to confront him in Riverwood, after she'd seen that. She could not think of any other reason the boy could speak the dragon language, but it was best to be cautious before making rash judgments. His father had never been confirmed, and talking to dragons was not any stranger than the things that put Tor on the Blades' list in the first place. It added to the case, though.

The dragon was fighting them all again, now. Delphine thought briefly of helping - it would not do to have the boy die childless if he was dragonborn; he might be the last one. Thinking of that, she was aware that one way or another she had to make sure he did have a child. The way that Mjoll woman looked at him, she wouldn't have to look far to find a willing mother.

Helping was out of the question, though. She would not die just for the chance that he was dragonborn. If it turned out that he really was, she would do her duty; but until then, she might be the last hope for the Blades.

The Mjoll woman's death would be unfortunate, but it looked likely to happen. She was running from the dragon, now, without much hope. Shit! Where was Aleron? Is that him up there? Is he going to…?

Delphine was stunned. The boy jumped off the damned tower. Well, hopefully she had been wrong about him anyway. Maybe someone else would show the signs, as long as she could…

"Huh" she said to herself, as she watched the boy riding the dragon's head. He drove his axe into the beast's skull until it shuddered and threw him forward. So now he's killed a dragon. She got up to move toward him, but something stopped her.

"What the…?" The dragon was… dissolving.

"Holy Talos!" Delphine was moving toward him now. There was no mistaking what she'd just seen. He had devoured that dragon's soul. The beast was nothing but bones now. He was Dragonborn. And she had to serve him. It was what she'd promised, sworn, to do.

But then the sky shattered with sound, as if lighting had struck right by her feet.

"DO-VAH-KIIN!"

Shit! This, she should have expected. Maybe she could get to him before the Greybeards. She would have to defame them, though, and there were too many people around him now. Too many Nords around him, anyway. They wouldn't stand for any words against their precious Greybeards. But maybe there was another way.

Erik watched as Jarl Balgruuf headed the thane's ceremony, but his attention was on the woman beside him. Men had been thane of more than one hold before, often enough. This Lydia, though, was a rare beauty.

"How long have you known him?" she asked, whispering.

"Less than half a year. He came from Colovian Cyrodiil a few months ago. I've hardly left his side since meeting him, though. Anything you've heard of him, I likely had a hand in it."

The dark-haired warrior woman did not look impressed. She did not even seem impressed with Aleron. Erik had known the Breton for months, and even he was in awe now. The Dragonborn! Any man who followed him would be famous. Stories would be told for generations of Aleron the Dragonborn, and his faithful companion, Erik the Slayer.

"Is he an honorable man?"

Erik looked at her in shock. "An honorable man? What have you heard?"

"Not much, except that he killed a fort full of Thalmor to save a traitor. I suppose you had a hand in that?" Her curt nod said she knew he had. "If we're lucky, the Thalmor will just demand the heads of everyone involved."

"Those people were torturing your countryman. We saved a man from needless pain. Aleron is loyal to the Empire."

"Loyal? I've no love for the Thalmor, mind you, but he may have started another Great War. I'll judge for myself the measure of the man. It's obvious you're useless."

Useless? Come to think of it, she was not so beautiful. Erik turned more attention to the dais in front of the Jarl's throne. Aleron was rising now, and embracing Balgruuf. The Dragonborn! Lydia could keep her judgment of the man. From now on, he was Erik's brother. No matter what, Erik was bound to him as sure as blood.

Mjoll smiled as Balgruuf embraced Aleron. The Breton seemed uncomfortable with it, but he deserved it whether he realized it or not. Any true Nord, knowing what he was, would want to embrace him. Mjoll did not know everything of what his being Dragonborn meant - she supposed only the Greybeards knew all of that - but she knew it meant that the gods had not abandoned the world of men to be ravaged by dragons. And anyone should be grateful for that. Man had not had much hope from the gods since Martin Septim gave his life to save Tamriel from the Mythic Dawn and Mehrunes Dagon, over two hundred years ago.

"And as a final honor," Balgruuf was saying, "I appoint Lydia to be your personal housecarl. Serve Whiterun well, Dragonborn." The older Nord pulled Aleron close then, but Mjoll could still hear him. "I envy you, you know. I made the pilgrimage myself, long ago. High Hrothgar is a very peaceful place, and the brothers of the order are wise men."

Aleron just nodded to the man. Balgruuf had required no oath - which was customary for a second thaneship - and so Aleron had not spoken through the whole ceremony. Silence seemed to suit him, though. The whole of Whiterun was abuzz with talk of what had happened at the watchtower, and of the Dragonborn called by the Greybeards. Silence added to the awe.

Aleron turned, and the smile he gave her nearly buckled her knees. How could a man say he was celibate and then smile like that? She had decided before reaching Whiterun that she would have him. His celibacy certainly could not hold out long. He clearly wanted her - he'd snuck her into an alley on the way through the city and kissed her as passionately as ever. And he had saved her life. Saved her from a dragon! She owed him some patience - if not too much. She was a grown woman, after all.

Lydia ascended the dais then. She did not seem happy, but she made an absurdly formal bow to her thane before speaking with him. Mjoll had never met Aleron's other housecarl, Valdimar. Apparently he was a mage, which made no sense at all in Hjaalmarch. Lydia, though, was a quintessential Nord housecarl. Her armor was well-made, and typical of Nordic professional warriors. Ornately carved steel plate, over fur and leather, barely covered her chest. Her hips and thighs were covered with a leather and steel loin-guard, attached to leather faulds with riveted steel plates. Her boots and gauntlets were also of leather and fur with steel plates. It was the kind of comfortable heavy armor a woman wore when she spent every moment of her day armored, guarding some noble.

"I am ready to serve, thane." The woman really was very formal and cold.

Aleron looked at her as if she were a slaughterfish. "Well, uh… Do you have a horse?"

"I do. Are we leaving straight away for High Hrothgar, then?"

"We'll be leaving within the next few days, but until then your time is yours."

"Perhaps you don't understand, thane. I am your sword and your shield. I don't leave your side. My time is yours."

That was a very strict interpretation of a housecarl's duties. Most thanes had little need within their own hold to keep their housecarls close. Mostly they were left to guard homes and families. Perhaps she thought Aleron, being the Dragonborn, would be off on adventures without her if she let him wander.

"I, uh… fine. But you're likely to get bored. Shopping for supplies and sending off letters is not really dangerous work."

Great. It was not going to be easy seducing a man who was trying to convince himself he didn't want her. Mjoll didn't need some other woman around all the time blocking every advance she could make. Especially not one who was younger and prettier than she. Still, she had other assets the younger woman could only envy.

Aleron finished tightening the buckles under Mjoll's arms. He was sure she could do it herself - he'd designed them that way, and he had no trouble with his own - but the woman always insisted she needed his help to don any of the armor properly. Likely, she just wanted an excuse to have his hands on her. She did not seem to get any particular pleasure out of it, but she had to know what it did to him. He swore to himself every time that he would not do it again; but the truth was that he enjoyed the contact with her. It made him feel guilty every time, but he could not stop himself from eyeing her curves as she stripped down to the tight-fitting britches she wore under the armor. He was becoming obsessed really. Her bottom was very round, and her legs were like… No!

He had to stop this before it went too far. He'd practically attacked her in that alley, his hands roaming everywhere on her body he could think of without feeling he was breaking his vow. He knew why he was doing it, and he knew it was a vice. Things were just moving so fast in his life, and kissing Mjoll made all of the confusion disappear. But he needed to learn to deal with his problems, rather than bury them in emotional release.

He should not have told her about the celibacy vow. Most people seemed to take things like that as easily set aside. True, he had not officially been allowed to take the vows of a priest, and so they were not binding to any religious order. But he had said the words just the same, in front of Talos' shrine in the Weynon chapel. She would try to convince him to betray them, though. It would be better if he did not desperately want her to succeed.

He looked her in the eye, then, and she smiled that mischievous smile at him. He pulled her in and kissed her as intently as ever. All the fear and pain and worry left him. He was totally engrossed in the feel of her lips, the taste of her tongue. That heat, that lightning, was still there where his fingers touched the base of her neck. When he finally pulled away, her smile returned unchanged. He resisted the urge - the need - to kiss her again.

"Ahem!" Lydia coughed, a rough sound from such a feminine woman. Well, perhaps feminine was not the right word. She looked rather girly, despite her thick physique and armor. But she was… abrasive, and in a strangely masculine way. But what did Aleron really know. She was very different from Mjoll, certainly. Mjoll had a way of being a warrior and still definitely a woman. Lydia, it seemed, was trying to be a man.

Erik just chuckled behind her. "Come on, lovebirds. Adventure waits on us!"

Lydia gave him a cold stare. Cold, but Aleron thought there was something else. The dark-haired Nord woman seemed to like Erik, even as much as she pretended not to. At least, that was what Aleron assumed, since she would smile at him when she thought no one was looking. A hard woman, Lydia. There was a story there. He was sure now that she was highborn. No commoner had that much contempt for everything around her. No commoner except for a priest, anyway.

She really had not left his side, except when he slept. Then, she slept in a chair outside his room at the Bannered Mare. In truth, he should perhaps be grateful for that. He could not put it past Mjoll to try and sneak into his room - and he was far from certain he could turn her away if she were to push him.

He tried to set his mind to what was ahead. There was no trying to comprehend this Dragonborn business. He had read nothing at all on the subject. As far as he knew, there was very little known. Gregory had had one book, entitled The Book of the Dragonborn, but Aleron had never read it. He knew that the term had once been associated with the Septim line of emperors, and perhaps the Remans before that. As for anything else, it was all speculation, and no one really knew what it meant.

What he needed now was the guidance of the Greybeards. They were said to know everything of the Thu'um, and clearly that was connected to his being the Dragonborn. And they had called him, from a hundred miles away, just after Mirmulnir exploded into him. That was too much coincidence. All of it was too much.

"Yes," he said, looking around at the group gathered in his room. "It's a long trip to Iverstead. From there, the climb might take weeks, depending on the weather. We should get going."

.

Stepping out of the inn, he looked up to the southeast, at the monstrous mountain dominating the horizon. Up there, he could find answers. Some answers, anyway. Other things would not go away so easily. Perhaps he could steal a few kisses from Mjoll again, on the way.