What the hell is wrong with me that is making me dream such horrors? This time, I was devouring people as well. I should've eaten yesterday. I'm so hungry I could eat a mammoth. I descend into the common room and buy a couple of apples for breakfast and some food for later. I eat as I go to Dragonsreach, finishing off the last of the sweet green fruits as I reach the doors. Chucking the cores into a bush, I head inside.
It's so early the Jarl isn't even up yet, but I hear voices coming from Farengar's study, so at least I won't have to wait until he awakens.
"You see?" He is saying to a cowled figure leaning on the table. "The terminology is clearly First Era or even earlier. I'm convinced this is a copy of a much older text, perhaps dating to just after the Dragon War. If so, I can use this to cross-reference the names with other, later texts."
"Good – I'm glad you're making progress. My employers are anxious to have some tangible answers." The leather-clad woman responds. Neither of them have noticed me in the doorway yet, and I'm reluctant to interrupt.
"Oh, have no fear – the Jarl himself has finally taken an interest, I'm now able to devote most of my time to this research."
"Time is running, Farengar, don't forget." The cowl reminds. "This isn't some theoretical question – dragons have come back."
"Yes, yes, don't worry. Although the chance to see a living dragon up close would be tremendously valuable." If you can focus through the mind-numbing terror, that is. "Now, let me show you something else I found – very interesting…" Farengar began looking around, his eyes skimming over me, but obviously not seeing me. "I think your employers may be interested as well…" The cowled woman, however, does see me.
"You have a visitor."
"Hm?" Farengar finally realises that the humanoid figure in the doorway is that of a humanoid figure in the doorway. "Ah, yes, the Jarl's protégé!" He rounded the table, and I entered the room to meet him halfway. "Back from Bleak Falls Barrow? You didn't die, it seems." The Nords' powers of observation astound me. I bite back the sarcastic comment hanging from my tongue and allow him to continue, offering him the Dragonstone.
"Ah, the Dragonstone of Bleak Falls Barrow! Seems you are a cut above the usual brutes the Jarl sends my way." Why, what did he get before – a wicker chicken?
"I got you the Dragonstone – what next?" I ask.
"That is where your job ends and mine begins – the work of the mind, sadly undervalued in Skyrim." I hope he really doesn't realise he just called me stupid. "My…associate here will be pleased with your handiwork. She discovered its location by means she has so far declined to share with me." He turned to his hooded companion, whose appreciative gaze I could feel boring into my ashen skin. "So your information was correct after all. And we have our friend here to thank for recovering it for us." Farengar says, as though she hadn't just heard our entire exchange.
"You went to Bleak Falls Barrow and got that?" Do I really look that incapable? "Nice work. Just send me a copy when you've deciphered it." With that, she left, brushing past Irileth, who was hurrying towards us. What has got the Housecarl in such a fluster?
"Farengar!" She calls. "Farengar, you need to come at once – a dragon's been sighted nearby. You should come too." She adds in my direction, before turning and heading towards the stairs at the back of the hall, giving Farengar time to catch up.
"A dragon? How exciting!" No, Farengar, it isn't exciting. It's far, far from exciting. "Where was it seen? What was it doing?" Like it's just a rare breed of finch. One that happens to be several meters long and can breathe fire…
Irileth, it seems, feels the same as I. "I'd take this a bit more seriously if I were you. If a dragon decides to attack Whiterun, I don't know if we can stop it." At the bottom of the steps, a guardsman waits. At Irileth's "Let's go." He follows us up.
The Jarl is waiting in the area at the top, in front of a massive pair of doors and next to a table covered with a map, on which are stuck many little flags; some red, some blue. I think I can guess what those depict – Imperial red and Stormcloak blue.
"So, Irileth tells me you come from the Western Watchtower?" Balgruuf asks the guard, who stops and stands to attention before him.
"Yes, my lord."
"Tell him what you told me – about the dragon." Irileth orders him. He takes a deep breath, then begins his explanation.
"Ah, that's right. We saw it coming from the south. It was fast, faster than anything I've ever seen." He pauses.
"What did it do?" Balgruuf presses. "Is it attacking the Watchtower?"
"No, my lord." The wretched man retorts. "It was just circling overhead when I left. I never ran so fast in my life – I thought it would come after me for sure."
"Good work, son." Praises the Jarl. "We'll take it from here. Head down to the barracks for some food and rest – you've earned it. Irileth, you'd better gather some guardsmen and get down there."
"I've already ordered my men to muster near the main gate." The main gate? I didn't think there were any other gates. I haven't seen any.
"Good. Don't fail me." Balgruuf turns to me. "There's no time to stand on ceremony, friend. I need your help again. I want you to go with Irileth and help her fight this dragon." OH GODS! Who does he think I am? I can't do this! I'm not ready! "You survived Helgen, so you have more experience with dragons than anyone else here." I have experience running away from dragons, if that's what he means! "But I haven't forgotten the service you did for me in retrieving the Dragonstone for Farengar. As a token of my esteem, I have instructed Avenicci that you are now permitted to purchase property in the city." He must be talking about Proventus. "And please, accept this gift from my personal armoury." He hands me a steel axe, which I pocket with shaking hands. I'm not sure about this. What aid could I possibly lend against a dragon? Oh well – I don't seem to have much of a choice in this matter.
"I should come along. I would very much like to see this dragon." No you don't, Farengar. You don't want to be anywhere near one of those monsters.
"No – I can't afford to risk both of you." Balgruuf rebuts his argument. "I need you here working on ways to defend the city against these dragons."
"As you command." Farengar mopes, then returns to his study.
"One last thing, Irileth." The Jarl calls as Irileth starts down the stairs. "This isn't a death-or-glory mission. I need to know what we're dealing with."
"Don't worry, my lord, I am the very soul of caution." With that, she and I head to the barracks at the gate, joining the small gathering of guards. Four? So it's just the six of us and whatever survivors are left against a dragon. Great.
"Here's the situation." explains the Housecarl. "A dragon is attacking the Western Watchtower." This throws the guardsmen. I'm not entirely sure they won't desert as soon as their Dunmer leader isn't looking. "You heard right – I said a dragon! I don't much care where it came from or who sent it. What I do know is that it's made the mistake of attacking Whiterun!" Who sent it? What possible other motive could the beast have other than wanton destruction?
"But Housecarl – how can we fight a dragon?" Asks one of the guards.
"That's a fair question. None of us have ever seen a dragon before, or expected to face one in battle. But we are honour-bound to fight it, even if we fail. This dragon is threatening our homes – our families! Could you call yourselves Nords if you ran from this monster? Are you going to let me face this thing alone?" This seems to rally the troops.
"No, Housecarl!" Most of them cry. Not loud enough to drown out one last cynic.
"We're so dead…" He says. Irileth ignores him.
"But it's more than our honour at stake here. Think of it…the first dragon seen in Skyrim since the last Age! The glory of killing it is ours, if you're with me! Now, what do you say? Shall we go kill us a dragon?"
"Yeah!" the men cry, drunk with the idea of being the famous ones to kill the first of the resurgent dragons.
"Let's move out!" Orders the Housecarl, and we all set off at a jog, through the gates, down the winding path and along the road towards the smoking Watchtower.
We stop behind a rocky outcrop, close enough to see the damage wrought by the angry beast.
"No sign of any dragon right now, but it sure looks like he's been here." She turns to the gathering behind us. "I know it looks bad, but we've got to figure out what happened, and if that dragon is still skulking around somewhere. Spread out and look for survivors – we need to know what we're dealing with." The soldiers scatter, weapons drawn. I follow Irileth, bow in hand, reluctant to be caught alone if and when the dragon returns. As we near the tower, a ragged guard emerges, panic written in big bold letters across his face.
"No, get back! It's still here somewhere – Hroki and Tor just got grabbed when they tried to make a run for it!"
"Guardsman, what happened here?" Irileth calls back. "Where's this dragon – quickly now!"
"I don't know -" the poor Nord responds, just as a roar screams across the sky. "Kynareth save us, here he comes again!" As he ducks back inside, a dark winged shadow glides overhead.
"Here he comes! Find cover and make every arrow count!" Irileth orders as she draws her bow.
"Ha ha ha! Beware mortal fools, as Mirmulnir has returned!" A great booming voice laughs – dragons can speak?! Fighting the terror rising in my gut, I take a deep breath and aim my bow where I guess the dragon will be when my arrow reaches him. As I loose, however, he twists and changes direction. I watch as my arrow soars off into the distance, hopefully not hitting some poor innocent farmer. I nock another as the dragon – Mirmulnir – lands in the tundra behind the tower. My anger at the destruction and death caused by the monster fades as the bloodlust takes me once more.
I run around to get a clear shot and start shooting, not even flinching when he sends a barrage of flame in my direction, even though it hurts more than anything I can describe. More than the searing heat of Vvardenfell's self-destruction. My attempts are aided by the guards, who are also loosing their arrows as soon as they can, not even pausing to aim. Mirmulnir screams as an arrow pierces the softer flesh beneath his chin, then lets out another bout of flames, felling one of the guards.
I loose an arrow, striking him just behind where his ear would be were he a mammal, and, with a fell cry, he crashes to the ground. Mirmulnir is no more.
I approach in wonder, my need for blood and battle fading. I haven't got very close, however, when the body of the enormous reptilian creature begins to glow. The skin suddenly bursts into flame, searing away flesh and scales, but not touching the bones. As this happens, a bright stream of light reaches towards me, faster than I can move to back away.
Warmth. Ecstasy. And knowledge. I know what fus means now. Force. I know how to use it against my foes, to make them stumble as I shower them with the strikes of my claws, to render them helpless against my great power.
Wait, what? I come back to my senses as the light fades. I don't have claws. But still, I know more than I did before. What just happened? I turn to see the guards hurriedly approaching.
"I can't believe it! You're…Dragonborn!" One remarks when he nears me.
"Dragonborn? What do you mean?" I ask him, now even more confused. This has happened to others?
"In the very oldest tales, back from when there were still dragons in Skyrim, the Dragonborn would slay dragons and steal their power. That's what you did, isn't it? Absorbed that dragon's power?"
"I don't know what happened to me."
"There's one way to find out." Explains the guard. "Try to Shout – that would prove it. According to the old legends, only the Dragonborn can Shout without training, the way the dragon's do." Thanks to what happened just now, I know what he means by 'Shout', though it still confuses me.
"Dragonborn? What are you talking about?" One of the other guards asks as the group comes back to join us, Irileth with them.
"That's right!" pipes up another. "My grandfather used to tell stories about the Dragonborn. Those born with the Dragon Blood in them, like old Tiber Septim himself."
"I never heard of Tiber Septim killing any dragons." Scoffs the first.
"There weren't any dragons then, idiot." Retorts the guard I had been conversing with. "They're just coming back now for the first time in…forever."
"What do you say, Irileth?" The second guard questions. "You've been awfully quiet."
"Come on, Irileth, tell us." This one must be the youngest of the three. "Do you believe in this Dragonborn business?"
"Hmph." Irileth responds. "Some of you would be better off keeping quiet than flapping your gums on matters you know nothing about. Here's a dead dragon, and that's something I definitely understand. Now we know we can kill them. But I don't need some mythical Dragonborn. Someone who can put down a dragon is more than enough for me." Was that a compliment buried in that little speech? I believe so!
"You wouldn't understand Housecarl. You aint a Nord." The first guard says grumpily.
"I've been all across Tamriel! I've seen things just as outlandish as this." Retorts the Housecarl. "I'd advise you all to trust in the strength of your sword arm over tales and legends." I'm about ready to test this theory.
"If you really are Dragonborn, like out of the old tales, you ought to be able to Shout. Can you? Have you tried?" one of the guards asks. Give me a chance!
Just in case it does work, I turn my back on the armoured figures and take a deep breath.
"FUS!" I scream, and a wall of air goes flying away from me. I feel a little drained, but nothing I can't handle. That was amazing! Maybe there is something to their theory that I am Dragonborn. I'm not sure I'm ready for the title, though.
"By all that I hold sacred….that's a Shout! Like the Greybeards on their mountain!" cries one of the guards. I'm starting to get really annoyed with these people's habit of stating the obvious. It's like they're adding exposition to some story.
I head back towards the city. Just as I turn the corner where the twisted pathway to the gate meets the road, a great rumble knocks me off balance.
"DOVAHKIIN!" a reverberating yell crashes around me. It's so loud I can't figure out where it came from. I stumble around, and eventually find my feet, retrieving my bow which had fallen from my back.
As I re-enter the city, I pause to observe an argument taking place between one of the guards and two warriors wearing red clothes, turbans and glittering scimitars.
"Look, you've already been told you're not allowed here. Turn around and go back the way you came." The guard was saying.
"We're causing no trouble." The accent of Hammerfell rolls easily off the warrior's tongue. "All we ask is to look for her."
"I don't care what you're doing – after what happened you're lucky I don't toss you in gaol. Now get lost." The guard turns and leaves.
"We will be back." Promises the warrior. "This is not over." He spots me lurking nearby, and comes over. "You there. We're looking for someone in Whiterun, and will pay good money for information."
"Who are you looking for?" I ask, wondering what it was that got them banned from the city.
"A woman, a foreigner in these lands. Redguard, like us. She is likely not using her true name. We will pay for any information regarding here location. We are not welcome here in Whiterun, so we will be in Rorikstead if you learn anything. She cannot hide forever." With that, he and his companion exit the town, the guards glaring after them.
I decide to take the other route up to Dragonsreach. On the way, I spy two children arguing.
"Battle-Born! Give me your money!" the girl demands.
"I – I don't have any money." Stutters the poor lad. Neither of them can be over ten years old.
"You'd better give me five septims right now, or I'll bloody your nose. Ten septims tomorrow, baby Battle-Born, or I'm going to bloody your nose and your lip." I have to do something about this.
"No, please – I really don't have any money, Braith! I'll give you ten septims tomorrow, just don't hit me!" The boy sobs. The girl dashes off, and I squat next to the poor kid. "It's no fun getting pushed around all the time." He says.
I decide to try to take his mind off things while I think of something. "What's your name, lad?"
"Lars, Lars Battle-Born." He whimpers.
"What does a kid do for fun around here?"
"Well, I used to sneak out at night and try to tip over the big ox in the Grey-Mane's yard." The boy has cheered up already, it seems. "And me and Mila used to climb up on the roof of Dragonsreach and look for bird's eggs. But I don't do that stuff anymore – Father keeps catching me, and then I get in trouble." At this, he looks around, worriedly, then darts away. Well, that's one way to end a conversation. I climb the steps to Dragonsreach and slip through the wooden doors.
"Good – you're finally here." The steward greets me. "The Jarl's been waiting for you."
As I approach the throne, I catch the end of the conversation the Jarl was having with a burly Nord.
"You heard the summons." Balgruuf was saying. "What else could it mean? The Greybeards…"
"We were just talking about you." His companion says to me. "My brother needs a word with you." Funny, they don't look alike. But then, quite a few families look nothing alike – I look nothing like my late sister, so who am I to judge?
"So, what happened at the Watchtower?" The Jarl worries at me. "Was the dragon there?"
"The Watchtower was destroyed, but we killed the dragon." I explain, then pause. Should I tell him?
"I knew I could count on Irileth! But there must be more to it than that."
"When the dragon died, I absorbed some kind of power from it." There. That's that off my chest. I still don't understand, however.
"So it is true. The Greybeards really were summoning you." Balgruuf seems to be in awe of me. Me! But who are these mysterious people everyone is referring to?
"The Greybeards?"
"Masters of the Way of the Voice." Well, that explains a lot. "They live in seclusion high on the slopes of the Throat of the World." That must be the castle I could see vaguely, near the top of that enormous mountain across the river.
"What do the Greybeards want with me?" I wonder.
"The Dragonborn is said to be uniquely gifted in the Voice – the ability to focus your vital essence into a Thu'um, or Shout. If you really are Dragonborn, they can teach you how to use your gift."
"Didn't you hear the thundering sound as you returned to Whiterun?" Pipes up the warrior hovering next to me. "That was the Voice of the Greybeards, summoning you to High Hrothgar! This hasn't happened in – centuries, at least. Not since Tiber Septim himself was summoned, when he was still Talos of Atmora!"
"Hrongar, calm yourself!" cries Proventus. "What does any of this Nord nonsense have to do with our friend here? Capable as she may be, I don't see any signs of her being this, what – Dragonborn!" Why, am I supposed to have it tattooed across my forehead or something?
"Nord nonsense?" Hrongar is outraged. "Why you puffed up, ignorant…these are our sacred traditions that go back to the founding of the First Empire!"
"Hrongar, don't be so hard on Avenicci." Warns Balgruuf.
"I meant no disrespect, of course. It's just that, what do these Greybeards want with her?" Proventus apologises in the only way a Cyrodiil knows how.
"That's the Greybeards' business, not ours." Muses the Jarl. "Whatever happened when you killed that dragon, it revealed something in you, and the Greybeards heard it. If they think you're Dragonborn, who are we to argue? You'd better get up to High Hrothgar immediately. There's no refusing the summons of the Greybeards. It's a tremendous honour. I envy you, you know? To climb the 7,000 Steps again…" Seven thousand? Who the hell had the time to count them all? "I made the pilgrimage once, did you know that? High Hrothgar is a very peaceful place, very…disconnected from the troubles of this world. I wonder that the Greybeards even notice what's going on down here; they haven't seemed to care before. No matter – go to High Hrothgar. Learn what the Greybeards can teach you. You've done a great service for me and my city, Dragonborn." Whoa. Unexpected tangent, anyone?
"By my right as Jarl," continues Balgruuf. "I name you Thane of Whiterun. It's the greatest honour that's within my power to grant. I assign you Lydia, as a personal Housecarl, and this weapon from my armoury." Sweet, an enchanted axe - I'm keeping this one. "I'll also notify the guards of your new title – wouldn't want them to think you're part of the common rabble, now would we? We are honoured to have you as Thane of our city, Dragonborn." With that, he turns to his steward. "Back to business, Proventus. We still have a city to defend."
"Yes, my lord." Proventus responds as I turn from the dais and head to the front door. As I reach the bottom of the steps, I see an armour-clad woman waiting there. She hadn't been there before – she must be my Housecarl, Lydia.
"The Jarl has appointed me to be your Housecarl. It's an honour to serve you." She says when I greet her.
"I'm a Thane? What does that mean?" I take the opportunity to learn more about my new position.
"The Jarl has recognised you as a person of great importance in the Hold – a hero. The title of Thane is an honour, a gift for your service. Guards will know to look the other way, if you tell them who you are." Hmm… the temptation for misuse is almost too much.
"What does a Housecarl do?"
"As my Thane, I am sworn to your service. I'll guard you, and all you own, with my life." Lydia says.
I could use a companion, someone to help me with all these dungeon crawls people seem to expect of me. "Follow me, I need your help."
"Lead the way." Lydia says, and falls in behind me as I travel through the city, out the gate and down the road towards where the road crosses the river.
Just across the bridge, I spot a wolf patrolling near the road, so I draw my sword and prepare for an attack. Sure enough, no sooner have my feet touched solid ground again than the wolf jumps on me. One slice from my blade, and an arrow from Lydia, soon fells the hairy mutt. We've barely got ten yards down the road when another pack of wolves attack, these sporting scars that can only have come from being confined in a cage for a long period of time. They had been standing over the corpse of a bandit, which I loot along with the pelts of the creatures after they have been dealt with. On the body is a note, which I unfold and skim over.
Adril, it reads. I need you to go out and find the missing pit wolves before the next tournament. We lost too many during the last fights, and we won't be able to train new ones in time. Find them and bring them back to Cragslane at once! I do not condone treating animals this way, so I draw out the map that had come with the bag, and after a short consultation with Lydia, I mark the general area where she says Cragslane Cavern is. I mark the other places I have been on it too, and continue down the road. Beneath a hill next to where the road turned was yet another wolf, which made the mistake of attempting to have us for dinner. I'd barely drawn my sword when Lydia's arrow took it in the shoulder, killing it.
Atop the hill I could see the top of some stones, and, curious, I found the path up the hill to find a standing stone – and a necromancer. Despite what my heritage implies, the Dunmer hate necromancers, and I am no exception. I slay the desecrator before she has a chance to raise any of the skeletons that are scattered around the base of the stone. I loot the corpse, then inspect the stone. Carved into the rocky face is a stylised eye. Now I remember what the images remind me of – each correlates with a constellation. This must be the Ritual Stone. I mark it as so on my map, then return to the road and continue on my journey. At the bottom of a dip in the road, two ancient towers stand, one either side of the rushing river, a bridge joining them. It seems to be inhabited by bandits, but as they are distracted hunting a passing elk, Lydia and I manage to slip past un-noticed.
The rest of our trip is reasonably uneventful, apart from another small pack of wolves attacking us as we reached the far bank of a river. The main road took a long detour away from our mountain destination, so I took a gamble and led us along a goat path, which took us in the right direction. As the track took as along the bank of a river, the rocks making rapids that spat drips of water all over the place, we encountered a troll.
It was a tougher fight than I had encountered before, but the troll soon lay dead at our feet, its body leaking fat out of its wounds. I collect some of the oozings in a pot, then mine the nearby ore veins, one of which was quite valuable orichalcum. The troll's lair was full of the bones of recent feasts, and the corpses of two Stormcloaks, one of whom had a short note in their bag. Curious, I retrieve the small slip of paper and read the late soldiers' orders.
Captain, there have been multiple complaints about attacks near the river northwest of the Rift. We could use some more civilian support from that area for the war effort, so send a few men to investigate. It's probably just a couple of wolves, so you'll only need to send at most two men. Happy hunting. Bad luck for them then that it wasn't 'just a couple of wolves.'
Before we carry on up the hill, I hear a chiming tune, and find the source to be a small, glowing, leafy plant. I've heard of these, but never actually seen one – nirnroot! I carefully pull it from the rocky soil, making sure I have the whole plant. Broken nirnroot aren't as valuable as the whole thing. Tucking it into a separate part of my satchel that I store alchemy ingredients in, I start up the hill.
Reaching the top, I find myself on the outskirts of a small town, a bridge crossing the raging river toward a many-stepped slope up the mountain. That must be the base of the 7,000 Steps. A Nord is chatting with a Wood Elf on the near side of the bridge, so I pause, wondering what to do next. I'm not sure there's enough daylight left in the day to make the trip up to High Hrothgar, but I need to know round-about how far I'll have to go, in case I do have time.
"On your way up the 7,000 Steps again, Klimmek?" the Bosmer asks.
"Not today." Responds the one addressed as Klimmek gruffly. "I'm just not ready to make the climb to High Hrothgar. The path isn't safe." Uh-oh.
"Aren't the Greybeards expecting some supplies?"
"Honestly, I'm not certain. I've yet to be allowed into the monastery. Perhaps one day." The pair end their chat, and head toward the inn in the middle of the town. I halt the passing Nord.
"Passing through on your way to High Hrothgar? About to make a delivery there myself." I decide that, seeing as I'm headed that way anyway, I can help the man out, and save him some trouble.
"What type of deliveries do you make to High Hrothgar?" I ask, hoping I don't have to haul a massive great sack up there with only Lydia to assist.
Klimmek shrugs. "Mostly food supplies like dried fish and salted meats; you know, things that keep fresh for a long time. The Greybeards tend not to get out much, if you catch my meaning."
"And in return?" Not many people are willing to do such a task for free.
"Well, it's kind of an understanding between us." Obviously, Klimmek is one of the few who are. "I mean, it wouldn't feel right to charge them for a bit of preserved food. Trouble is, my legs aren't what they used to be, and climbing the 7,000 Steps takes its toll."
Yes, I should definitely help, if this man can't make the trip so often any more. "I could do it for you." I offer.
"Really? That would be kind of you." Why so incredulous? Doesn't he believe in other people's kindness? He offers a backpack stuffed brimming with foodstuff. "Here, take this bag of supplies. At the top of the Steps you'll see the offering chest. Just leave the bag inside and you're done. Be careful up there!" He advises, before striding off and entering the inn.
Tucking the bag into my satchel – these tiny little sacks are truly wondrous things – I gaze at the western sky. It's starting to turn pink, so I decide to take an early night so I can get a good start tomorrow. I eat the meat and the bread as I amble towards the Vilemyr Inn, and finish off the ale just before I head inside.
The atmosphere is warm, the common room not crowded, and the people look friendly. I walk up to the counter and grab the attention of the innkeeper.
"I'm Wilhelm. Let me know if you need anything." He says as he sidles over.
"I'd like to rent a room." I open my purse.
"Sure thing – that's ten gold, just like everywhere else." I hand over the fee, glad I don't have to worry about differing prices across the country. I suddenly remember some of my youth, the rolling hills of Cyrodiil popping into my mind – and that each inn in each city charged a different price. I return to the present just in time to catch Wilhelm's last comment. "It's yours for a day. I'll show you to your room – right this way." I follow him into a large room with two beds in it, my two late nights and early mornings catching me up as I flop onto the bed. I remove my armour, and lie down on the bed.
I'm thinking hard, trying to remember more of who I am, when I doze off and am soon fast asleep.