Chapter Twelve:

To Be Dragonborn

It was already past nightfall when we had finished my training. I was beyond exhausted. Seven-thousand steps, a frost troll, and constant shouting definitely played the largest parts. But my mind was just as tired as my body. Questions were pouring in and I found myself stuffing them into corners of my mind that I hadn't dreamed existed. Too many questions, and not enough answers.

Everyone, incidentally, was fast asleep once I'd found the room Arngeir had sent them to, in simple beds similar to those in the keep at Helgen. Hiemdall had even gone the extra mile to get comfortable and removed his armour, opting for simple clothing instead.

I sat on the last remaining bed, away from my companions, pulled my hood over my head as far as it could go, and then rested my elbows on my knees, still grasping the edges of my hood. Maybe I could just hide from everything. High Hrothgar was a great place to do so, but not if everything seemed to revolve around me. I found myself missing that stupid house on the hill outside of Anvil's walls, overlooking the sea. I'd wanted to be a sailor when I was young. Besides Milos, I had no ties to the land. I could grasp the rigging and swing around the boat, over the water, without a care in the world, and only the open sea before me. Another child's dream, one that would likely never be fulfilled.

In my time in Skyrim, I had received too much in too short a time. Thane of Whiterun, Dragonborn... It felt like Taryn Greystone, the orphan from Anvil, was disappearing. There wouldn't ever be a "Taryn Greystone, voyager extraordinaire", or even a simple "Taryn Greystone". Just, "Thane Taryn Greystone, Dragonborn".

The title made me cringe, as my memories went back to why I had fled Cyrodiil in the first place. It also made me wonder that, if Milos hadn't ever returned to Black Marsh to find out what had truly happened to his parents, would my fate have been different?

My knuckles were white as I clenched my fists, pulling on the fabric of my hood more. What else would have been different in my life, if I'd had parents in the first place? I wouldn't be an orphan, and I wouldn't grow up hating women older than I. Maybe I wouldn't have trouble with authority figures, like guards, or Counts for that matter.

"What were your parents like?" I asked Milos as we gazed into the fire.

He fidgeted and stared at his hands. "They were kind. They always made me feel like... Well, like I was everything to them. I loved them. Of course I did—they were my parents. They should be the people you love unconditionally, and they should return it." Milos hesitated. "My mother was very proper, and taught me how to read a lot. I'm still not very good, but she was patient with me. My father was hard, and believed that I could do most things myself, even though I was young. But there would be days when he'd let me sit on his lap, and he'd tell me stories of Black Marsh." He looked at me then, tearing his yellow eyes from his hands. "What about you? What were your parents like?"

"I..." I wondered if I should spin a tale for the young Argonian. He'd be none-the-wiser, but I felt like I could trust him. He'd just spoken to me honestly, for Gods' sake! "I didn't know my parents. The hag back at the orphanage was just an assistant when I was left there. The Madame at the time told me that I was left here by a man with a grey beard. Not very specific, but she said he didn't say a word. He just handed me over to her and turned around, going back to wherever the hell he came."

"What if he was your grandfather?" Milos asked.

I shrugged. "If he was, then why give me away? I'd be blood, and you take care of blood. If he wasn't—and I'm certain he wasn't—then he just wanted to be rid of me as quickly as possible, and that'd be that."

"Then why wouldn't he leave you to die?"

"I dunno. Why're the Thalmor dickheads? We don't know that either." I frowned. "All I want is to live my life to the best of my ability. I don't want any ties, I don't want anything to hold me down, and I don't want a family. What's the point of having one if you're just going to leave it?"

"Leave it?" Milos repeated.

"I want to sail, Milos! I want to travel the Nirn, see all the borders of Tamriel, and be free. I would only have to listen to a Captain, and who knows? I could become one, and then I wouldn't have to listen to anyone. I'd be my own person, with my own ship, on my own time, using my own rules. And damn everyone to Oblivion who thinks otherwise!"

Milos smiled. "I'd go with you."

"You'd be my first mate!" I exclaimed. "Milos and Taryn, the best and most fearsome sailors in all of Tamriel! And we'll have our own flag!"

I laid down on the bed and stared at the ceiling, but sat back up again because the ceiling looked too gloomy. I wondered if there was a Shout to turn back time, so I could at least kick the Madame in the shins before fleeing to Skyrim.

"Septim for your thoughts?" Milos sat on the other side of the single bed, his back meeting mine and his tail curling onto my lap. He used to do that when we lived in the orphanage.

"Keep your septims," I replied, smiling weakly. "We'll need them to get wherever we're going."

"You can tell me anything, Taryn. You know that."

I sighed, putting a hand on Milos' scaly tail. "It's... not something I'm particularly proud of. I just... I can't talk about it right now."

Milos' hand was on my shoulder then, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "I know how you feel. Actually, no, I don't. I'm not one of these mystical Dragonborn. But I know that there's a reason some things happen. We may not like some of 'em, but we can either fight against it, or ride with it. Despite what these old geezers are saying, you are Taryn. Don't doubt that. The Gods have a set path for us—our destinies."

I chuckled. "I prefer to make my own path. I can acknowledge that there are most likely deities of all sorts around—look at the evidence we have!—but I doubt that they have a set path for us. It'd be too tedious. And anyway, the Divines seem to like to pick on me. All nine of 'em."

"Still the rebel, I see."

"Did you ever doubt? The Thalmor can shove their stupid 'reasoning'. Talos is Talos, and he's Tiber Septim. Who's to say differently?"

Milos' tail slid out of my grasp as he stood up. I was a bit disappointed, but Milos came around and picked me up off of the bed in a tight hug. My feet were dangling uselessly in the air he was so tall, but his grip loosened and I managed to return it.

"I'm sorry, but I never got to say it. I missed you, Taryn. I really did. Black Marsh was excruciating without you." Milos released me, revealing a toothy grin. "Even if you don't believe in a set path, I'm glad we found each other again."

I smiled and buried my head in his chest. We were like a brother and sister, despite that one of us had horns and a tail. I imagined that this was what it was like to have siblings who cared about you.

"Dammit, Milos..."

"You're not gonna start crying, are you?" Milos chuckled. "I remember that."

"You were a little bastard!" I snapped, glaring up at him. "I had every right to cry then! You should've told me that you didn't run away, you stupid lizard!"

Milos covered my mouth with his hand and looked at our two companions. They were fast asleep, or, at least, Hiemdall was. Aldren was just as silent as I'd come to expect of him.

"I went for a walk outside the walls and got lost," Milos explained (probably for the millionth time), removing his hand. "I'd never not tell you if I was leaving. I just forgot that day."

"You were angry at me that day."

"I told you not to take the blame for the broken vase, Taryn. You listened about as well as you usually do. I had every right to be." Milos' eyes narrowed. It struck me how much he resembled a Dragon when he did that. "Those scars on your back are my fault. The Madame shouldn't have hit you like that, but you took that for me. It might as well have been me holding the damn stick."

I smiled. "Milos, it's fine—."

"No, it's not. Anyway, we've traveled far, you've just had a shouting match, let's get some sleep."

I sighed, remembering the climb to High Hrothgar. "Yeah. Tomorrow we have to get a damn horn for these guys."

"Oh, goody. Is it big? Are they going to fill it full of food?"

"Can you stop thinking about your stomach for two seconds?"

Milos paused. "Two seconds is up."

I threw my hands in the air in frustration. "Whatever! I'm going to sleep!"

Milos put a hand on my head and rustled my hair. "Have a good sleep, Taryn." He approached his bed and then hesitated. "By the way, tomorrow, maybe I'll tell you what I found in Black Marsh. Five years gives one many answers, not all of them good."

I nodded and bid him a good-night. There had been many good memories with Milos, and he'd made living in that hellhole bearable. I'd hated that place—still do. But having someone there to support me was nothing short of a relief.

I laid on the bed and closed my eyes, my entire body relaxing. Milos could take the weight off my shoulders in an instant and throw it off a cliff. I just hoped that I'd been able to do the same for him.

When I woke up several hours later, it was well past dawn. Hiemdall was the only one still asleep, and he looked comfortable, so I didn't wake him up. I stretched and rubbed my eyes, then sifted through my pack to make sure nothing had accidentally fallen out. When I was satisfied, I flung it onto my back, equipped my bow and longsword, and went to find Aldren and Milos.

I really wasn't surprised when I saw Milos talking with Aldren, a bottle of Honningbrew Mead in his hand. He was really getting hooked to the stuff. Aldren was flipping one of his daggers in the air and grabbing it by the blade deftly, without cutting his hand, while talking to Milos. I expected him to cut himself at least once, but his skill with those things was superior to my expectations.

"Morning," I greeted, approaching the two. "What's up?"

"I was just telling Aldren here about the time you kicked a city guard in his family jewels," Milos explained, grinning. "And I brought this to give to the Greybeards for letting us stay. Couldn't find 'em, though. I didn't want to go outside in case I wasn't allowed."

"There's just a courtyard there," I told him. "I'm sure you'll be fine."

Milos shrugged. "Regardless, one of the Greybeards should be here soon."

Hiemdall trudged up to us, his hair a mess and his eyes drooping. He yawned, revealing a massive abyss. "What'd I miss?" he asked, rubbing the back of his head (or scratching... I think).

"We're preparing to leave, dog," Aldren said, not at all gently. "You'd better get ready."

"Yeah, yeah. I will." Hiemdall put a hand on my head. "Morning," he said, and then left to change and get his stuff.

I pointed after him. "What in Oblivion was that?"

"What?" Milos asked.

"How come he did that?" I snapped.

"I do that to you all the time," Milos pointed-out. "I think he's got a crush on you. You can attract the Nords like I attract Imperials."

I rolled my eyes. "I hope he doesn't. I've got enough on my plate to deal with..."

"Yeah. Being Dragonborn obviously isn't just a free pass to shout at people."

I groaned. "Please... never call me that!"

Milos grinned and put the mead on a table in the main room we'd been standing in, under the hole in the roof. "There. They can at least enjoy a bit of this stuff now. They'd better not be stingy."

"Milos... they're monks."

Surprisingly, Aldren was the one to reply. "So? I drank a lot when I was training to be a priest. What's wrong with it?"

The assassin was training to be a priest? Well, I thought, at least I'm not the only one who's full of surprises.