Cura stood outside of Dragonsreach, and looked to the East, wondering if the building that resembled an upturned ship may be the Jorrvaskr she had heard so much about. She darted down the stairs, and past the loud preacher, who was yet still on his Talos rant. She headed up the stone stairs, and entered the shiplike building, hoping she was correct in her assessment.

Inside, she saw a large fire pit surrounded by tables where warriors were eating, drinking, and boasting tales of heroism and various other things. On one side, she saw a small group huddled around a Nord woman in a Hide helmet fighting a Dark Elf man, and beating him into the ground. Cura cringed a little at the sharp blows.

These were warriors, all right. The hardy kind. Not like those of the Vigil, for certain. These were brutes. She watched some chug their ale down and some laughing like maniacs in the corners. It was more akin to a cornerclub than a Hall of Respected Guild Warriors.

She then saw a familiar face sitting at one of the tables, calmly, enjoying a venison and cheese. It was Ria, the Imperial who she helped out with the Giant earlier. The girl saw Cura, and immediately waved her over. "Ooh, Cura! Cura! Over here!"

The Breton smiled and quickly scurried on over, leaping the fire pit to reach her. "Hello, Ria. Are you well?"

"I am!" The Imperial exclaimed. "So you've decided to join the Companions? Wonderful!"

"Er, not exactly." Cura admitted. "I need to speak with that Skjor fellow you told me about earlier."

"Oh." Ria's tone dropped. "Well, Skjor is just over there." She pointed to a balding gray-haired man with a set of dark grey armour with a wolf face insignia carved into the front of the chest.

"Thank you, Ria." Cura nodded, hurrying over to the man.

As Cura stepped in front of him, he looked up from the ale he was drinking. After a moment of locking eyes with the Vigilant, he snorted. "Yeah?"

"I need your help, Skjor." Cura asked, point-blank. "Whiterun needs your help."

"Do you now?" Skjor asked, leaning back in his chair, glaring into Cura's emerald eyes with his wolfish gaze. Cura held her breath. His piercing gaze sent shivers down the Breton's spine, and though she tried to hide it, he could see her lightly shiver. "What makes you think I would?"

Cura exhaled at last. "Because you're a Companion. You do that for a living?"

"Exactly." Skjor said, extending a hand forward. "For a living."

Cura stared at his hand. "There's a Dragon flying circles around Whiterun watchtower right now." She said, narrowing her eyebrows to a furrow.

"Not my problem." Skjor dismissed.

"It will be if it makes it here to Whiterun." Cura pushed.

"The Guards can fight it." Skjor said smugly. "And if it comes to that, I wish you the best of luck."

Cura sighed. There was no time. If he was the Dragonborn like she assumed, he would be needed for this fight. She would support him in any way she could, but she would need him there, first. It was clear that simply helping save lives did not mean much to him.

The Vigilant sighed. "How much?"

"You couldn't afford me." Skjor spat out smugly with a sarcastic smile, resuming his drink and ignoring Cura. The Vigilant, filled with a sense of duty, and overwhelmed with stress that the entire scenario brought on, and leftover anxiety from the Barrow and Helgen, slapped the cup of ale out of his hand, causing it to hit the floor and spill its contents. "How much?" She demanded more sternly, gritting her teeth in sheer frustration.

Skjor was stunned for a second, and the other warriors in the hall watched what occurred, slack-jawed. They had seldom seen anybody take on Skjor. When the surprise faded, and expression of black hate came upon his face as he slowly pulled himself up from his chair, looming a head and a half over the petite Breton like a Cave troll. Everyone else looked away, and his expression quickly mellowed. He wanted to maintain his composure, but Cura could vaguely make out a wild animal writhing in fury behind his brown eyes.

Ria held a hand in front of her mouth. She would speak up, but she wouldn't dare step in between her and Skjor. He was alpha, in every sense of the word. All who worked under him feared him, and those above him exalted him.

Cura realized that she may have made a horrible mistake in the heat of the moment. "I apologize... I, uh, I got caught up in the heat of the moment." She excused.

"You've got some guts, that I can see." Skjor stated. "600 septims."

"...What?" Cura was afraid that it may have been an expensive ale he was chugging down, but even the most expensive Ale wouldn't cost that much.

"600 septims and I'll fight this stupid Dragon." Skjor spat.

600 septims?!

Cura would be down to 401 after this.

She couldn't return to the Vigil like that!

But, perhaps, if he is the Dragonborn, she'd best not push her luck.

"Okay." Cura extended a hand. "It's a deal."

Skjor stared at her hand.

"What?"

"Up front." He demanded.

Cura sighed, and took out her coin purse. She counted 600 gold coins in front of Skjor, and then wrapped them in a separate bag and handed them over to him then and there. "There's 600 septims." She iterated.

"Excellent." Skjor mused, as he finished counting for himself. "All right. Let's go and slay a Dragon."

Cura nodded. She would definitely be staying behind him for this ordeal, if she could help it. One does not simply glare at somebody in that manner and let go of it as quickly. For all she knew, he would turn on her at the minute they were left alone together.

She wanted to return to the Vigil and pretend that nothing happened, but she could not with a mere 401 gold. Or rather, 351 gold if she paid the Carriage at the Stables outside the city to take her to Dawnstar. The Keeper would never allow her to leave the Pale again. And she rather liked the atmosphere outside of that cold wasteland. Riverwood and Whiterun were beautiful, and the air in Eastmarch was very fresh. She wanted to see all that this Province had to offer.

Of course, she would need the 1000 gold first. She promised, after all. As the God of Justice dictates, when one makes a promise or an oath, they must honour it. It is only just, after all.

The pair headed through the city, and Skjor spoke again. "What do you know about this Dragon?"

"Nothing yet." Cura stated. "But I have survived one before."

"So you have some experience." Skjor mused. "That's good. What are your skills in a fight?"

"I am a Healer who masters in curing wounds, and forming Wards." Cura stated. "I can also use Flames, and Oakflesh as of now." She pondered a little. "I am proficient with melee weapons, like Maces and Warhammers, so the blunt One-handed and Two-handed."

"Should come useful, if you could find a weak spot in the Dragon's armour." Skjor stated, as the two headed out the gate.

Cura appreciated the fact that someone acknowledged her skill for a change.

Further down, Cura could make out the figures of Irileth and a number of Soldiers heading out into the field, in the direction of a tall tower that partially lay in shambles, surrounded by patches of fire.

Irileth stopped behind a rock nearby for shelter as Cura and Skjor caught up.

"Hmph. And here I thought you'd run away." Irileth seemed overall surprised to see Cura, and the Breton shook her head. Back to form.

"I said I'd help." Cura said. "I just thought we'd need some help. This is Skjor-"

"Hail, Companion!" one of the Guards saluted him. Skjor nodded in response.

Irileth scoped the surrounding area from her vantage point. "Keep your wits about you. No signs of any dragon right now, but it sure looks like he's been here. 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." She then headed towards the tower, and the others followed suit. Cura held her mace at the ready, whatever it would do to a dragon in the first place aside.

Cura was ready to head up the remaining stairs when a Guard came out of the tower. "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? Where's this dragon? Quickly now!" Irileth inquired.

"I don't know!" the guard shouted anxiously. Then, a sudden, hollow roar emerged from the distance. "Kynareth save us, here he comes again..."

Cura looked around frantically, as the Guards rushed past her, and began to ready their bows at Irileth's command. The Breton spun a look at Skjor quickly, who was flanking the right side of the war formation, and she split apart from them all, and headed up the spiraling staircase within the tower, straight to the top. From there, she saw a sprawling view of mountains, grass, ruins, roads, and some rocks off in the backdrop, and she could slowly make out a figure flying incredibly fast in their direction-it was shaped almost like a bird at a distance, but once it closed in, there was no doubt.

It was a Dragon.

Cura's blood froze in terror at the sight of the fiend. Helgen flashed before her eyes.

This was it. Her big test had come at last.

"Scatter and get behind cover! We need to hurt it, somehow! If you've got a bow or spells, now would be a good time to use them!" she heard Irileth command from below. The Dark elf was charging up her Lightning Spell. Unfortunately, Cura had no Destruction Spells other than Flames, and the Dragon would not be close enough for her to reach it.

Just then, the infernal Dragon soared straight over Cura's head, creating a vacuum wave of wind that nearly bowled her over the edge of the tower. She whirled around and headed down the stairs, quickly. She would fare better without the risk of falling to her death.

The Dragon lay waste to half of the party when it swooped down and blasted them with a breath of violent fire. "YOL TOOR SHUL!" A wave baked the soldiers caught in its wake, and scorched the earth around them. All that was left when the infernum cleared was piles of ash and a few charred corpses, strewn about in the fetal position. A ghastly sight.

"Shor's bones!" Skjor exclaimed, as he attempted to shoot the wyrm down with few Steel arrows while navigating the furnace around him. The Dragon crooked around the Watchtower and caught Skjor by the back causing him to fumble to the ground before regaining his stance. "Son of a bitch." he cursed as he fired an arrow into its head, meeting its mark between two scales, prying them open with the flight momentum.

A couple of Guards were still alive, wailing in agony from the third-degree burns, when Cura rushed over to their sides, and used her Healing Hands to recover them from the near-mortality of their charred flesh.

The Dragon swooped down again and blasted a torrent of ice some distance away. "FO KRAH DIIN!" The vapour slicked the ground and encased those caught in it with ice, killing them on contact.

The fiend's voice sounded like something straight out of Oblivion. How could these things be Aedric?

Cura grit her teeth in frustration as the terrible lizard breezed overhead again, taking a few arrows in its side. "Come down, you coward!" Cura yelled at the Dragon, squeezing her mace in her hand so firmly, she could vey well have dislocated a few fingers in her right hand. She waved her mace in the air, motioning for the Dragon to come at her.

"What are you doing, you idiot?" Skjor snapped. "Do you have a death wish?"

Cura shook her head. "I want to knock its teeth out!"

She hated these Dragons; after just 2 encounters, she knew they were a blight on the world. Perhaps it was the Gods punishing Skyrim for the Civil War, or perhaps it was just plain old misfortune, but she didn't care. All she saw was a flying threat. An affront to life. It had to be eliminated. Stendarr's Mercy need not apply to this beast.

"Skjor, I want you to do whatever it is you do to slay these things!" Cura shouted over the sounds of roaring, wailing, and crackling flame. She was unsure of what a Dragonborn would do to finish a Dragon, but she was hoping it would be done regardless. If this kept up, they would surely be killed, and Whiterun and Riverwood would be next. All of Cura's fear was replaced with a burning rage.

Skjor looked baffled, but nodded as he knocked another arrow, and fired it at the Dragon immediately as it was swooping down with its maw agape, aiming for Cura. Before the fire could leave its throat, an arrow took it in the eye, causing the Dragon to roar and fumble in its flight. Cura jumped out of the way, and it slid across the floor. Seeing an opportunity for attack, she ran to the Dragon, and leaped onto its back. In a blind rage, she wormed her way to the wyrm's head, finding the open gashes left from arrows, and began to ceaselessly smash it with her mace, increasingly more aggressive with each whack.

Bastard lizards!

CRACK!

This is for those poor citizens of Helgen!

The Dragon throttled violently, trying to shake the Vigilant off its head, but Cura quickly maintained her balance by gripping the corner of its mouth for support as she continued to bash it as the other people slashed its back and volleyed it with arrows. Cura had never felt like this before in her life; if she had been aware of what she was doing outside of her fury, she would have been disgusted. A Vigilant is supposed to fight in a graceful manner, befitting a Paladin, and here she was doing an impression of an Orc Berserker.

SPLIT!

Upon her hardest blow, the Steel Mace shattered against the fiend's thick hide. In that small window of realization, the Dragon flung Cura off of its head, and quickly snapped at her with its fangs.

Using her shield, Cura blocked the onset of giant razors, and was thrown backwards, onto the ground, where she fumbled around a bit before settling in place. The Dragon crawled along the floor, and leaned its head back. "YOL..."

Cura, in a frenzied moment, brought up a Ward.

"TOOR SHUUUUL!"

The Dragon blasted Cura head-on with a ravaging fire. She held up her Ward for as long as she could, but it broke, and she was consumed with the immolating force. Holding on for dear life and bracing herself, she had the sense to activate her Dragonskin; a power native to all Bretons; that allowed her body to absorb most of the force of the attack and convert it to her Magicka pool.

Skjor was quick on his feet, and he drove his Skyforge Steel Sword into the Dragon's right eye, blinding the demon once and for all, and halting its flame breath.

A few guards rushed to the Dragon and attacked it by the sides with sword and axe, and were swatted back by its wing.

Irileth began to blast it with bolts of lightning, disorienting it as it turned its body around to attack the Guards.

Cura scrambled to her feet, and quickly rushed to the Dragon, who was bleeding from its eyes. She then jumped upwards, driving her mace under its chin, causing its head to snap back, at the shock of everyone around her. When it lowered, she then jumped on its face in hateful rage. "Just DIE already!" She creamed as the adrenaline coursed through her body like nothing before.

The Breton drove her mace into the Dragon's torn eye socket, causing it to reel back in agonizing horror.

Skjor stabbed it in its exposed chest in this instance, causing the Dragon to collapse to the ground. Cura rolled off its snout upon impact, and onto the grass clinging to the ground for a moment as her heart felt as though it were falling out of place.

"DOVAHKIIN, NOOOOO!" The Dragon wailed as it finally ceased movement.

Cura's heart was racing, and her mind was filled with hateful and violent thoughts. She quickly scrambled to her feet, and wiped some of the blood that was running down her face from the top of her head. The world was spinning and embers danced in the air. It was everything she could do to stop herself from throwing up.

"You may just be the boldest woman in Skyrim." Skjor scoffed to her from a distance. Cura nodded, still disoriented. The blood was pounding the insides of her ears, and she could barely hear anything beyond an underwater clouding.

Suddenly, the Dragon's corpse began to flake apart, as if it were being scorched in flame, itself. The decomposition began slowly, then spread quickly through its body, from its tail to its snout and wings. Suddenly, a purple, red and blue aura emanated from the bones, and rushed through the air, past Skjor, and straight into Cura!

"What...?"

She felt a rush of incredible power wash over her and into her, filling her bloodstreams with unfathomable energy. She felt something unreal. Unnatural. Otherworldly. Violent. Primordial. Like a fire in its own right; a fire that burned with the force of the Sun itself. Like an unrelenting force.

Was this real?

The Breton snapped back into it, and saw Skjor staring at her, blankly. Irileth, as well. She saw the remaining Guards come hurrying over. To her, and to the pile of Dragon bones lying in the grass amidst the wreckage.

She looked at Skjor. Nothing about him changed. Maybe she was wrong about him, and wasted 600 hard-earned coins on a failed hunch. Then again, she might not have survived that encounter were it not for his intervention, so it was a justifiable purchase.

One of the Guards came up to Cura, but maintained a distance. "I can't believe it! You're... Dragonborn..."

"Excuse me?" Cura looked bewildered. Sheer madness.

"In the very oldest tales, back when there still were 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?" The Guard pressed the matter.

"You did. I saw you do it!" Skjor pointed at the dead Dragon.

"I think so..." Cura said, looking around at the expectant faces, feeling a little overwhelmed. "Something came out of it and flowed into me, but i'm not entirely sure."

"There's only one way to find out. Try to Shout... that would prove it. According to the old legends, only the Dragonborn can Shout without training, the way the dragons do." The same Guard restated.

Cura was thinking back. Shout. hmm? What could she shout?

"Fus."

The word reentered her mind.

Cura nodded, and then turned away from the crowd.

"FUS!"

When she exclaimed the word, a short, but vicious zephyr left her throat and tore apart the grass some feet ahead of her.

"By all I hold sacred-that's a shout! Like the Greybeards on their mountain!" One of the Guards exclaimed, impressed by the small feat.

What did this all mean?

Cura searched the floor frantically with her eyes, trying to reason this all out. She couldn't be Dragonborn. She was Vigilant Cura. Cura of the Pale; a Novice Vigilant of Stendarr! She swore to destroy all that was evil and uphold all that was good. She was the Vigil's Pup. Born and raised to be kind, to be just, to be charitable, to be good.

Having Dragon blood would make her like them.

Evil.

No, no, impossible. Cura tried to reconcile to herself. Keeper Carcette would have told me! She paused. Wouldn't she?

All was confusion. Cura's mind was racing a mile a minute.

"That was Shouting, what you just did! Must be. You really are dragonborn, then..." Another Guard chimed in.

"Stop." Cura raised a hand forward. "I don't want to hear any more of this."

To have the blood of one of those fiends. Impossible. The Legends have to be false, surely.

The Guards began to chatter amongst each other. "My grandfather used to tell stories about the Dragonborn. Those born with the Dragon Blood in 'em. Like old Tiber Septim himself."

"I never heard of Tiber Septim killing any dragons."

"There weren't any dragons then, idiot. They're just coming back now for the first time in... forever. But the old tales tell of the Dragonborn who could kill dragons and steal their power. You must be one!" He pointed at Cura, causing her to look away and slowly shake her head silently.

Another Whiterun Guard looked to the Jarl's housecarl. "What do you say Irileth? You're being awfully quiet." She had no immediate answer, prompting another Guard to push her. "Come on, Irileth, tell us, do you believe in this Dragonborn business?"

The Dunmer was becoming visibly irritated, and walked a small distance towards the Dragon's bones, as she began to downplay the situation. "Hmph. Some of you would be better off keeping quiet than flapping your gums on matters you don't know anything 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." She nodded at Cura while saying this.

A guard came up to her, standing his ground. "You wouldn't understand, Housecarl. You ain't a Nord."

Irileth crossed her arms, unmoved, unshaken. "I've been all across Tamriel. I've seen plenty of things just as outlandish as this. I'd advise you all to trust in the strength of your sword arm over tales and legends."

Cura was turned away completely from everyone else. She stared off into the distance, a cold fear settling in her chest. No. This couldn't be.

Skjor walked over. "You fought recklessly, but bravely." he admitted. "You could still use some work. I guess they don't really focus all that much on combat over there in the Vigil, huh?"

"We do." Cura stated, plainly. "But it's not our main focus."

"I see." Skjor looked off into the distance, and stood beside Cura. "I think the Companions could mold you into a finer warrior. One worthy of the title of 'Dragonborn'."

Irileth came over and caught Cura's attention. "That was the hairiest fight I've ever been in, and I've been in more than a few. I don't know about this Dragonborn business, but I'm sure glad you're with us. You better get back to Whiterun right away. Jarl Balgruuf will want to know what happened here. I'm taking command here for the moment. You head back to Whiterun and let the Jarl know what happened."

Cura nodded. "I will." She turned then to Skjor. "I'll... consider the offer."

She bolted quickly, running as fast as her scrawny Breton legs could carry her. Tears of terror running from the corners of her eyes as the rain began to fall from the sky above. She was panting for air, as her battle wounds were finally catching up to her, as the adrenaline began to subside.

She nearly lost her footing a few times, but made it to the main road, past the Stables.

Suddenly, a terrifying noise shook the entire world around her, in a thunderclap, roaring like an angry lion, tearing apart the wind itself, throttling Cura and the people around her.

"DOVAHKIIIIIIIN!"

She could make out the word spoken through the cacophony of thunderous power as it settled into a trailing rumble, then vanished. People in the area looked around, horrified at the sudden outburst, Cura included. She continued to rush back into the City.

"I hear talk among the Guards that you slayed that Dragon. On behalf of Whiterun, I thank you." One of the gate Guards stated as Cura rushed past.

She dashed past the Blacksmith Shop, and even missed the two Redguards who were unusually in the city, dressed in Alik'r Garb, such was her state of panic.

Cura hurried into the main Hall of Dragonsreach, and was greeted by Proventus and another Nord warrior. "Good. You're finally here. The Jarl's been waiting for you." The Imperial ushered her in.

Jarl Balgruuf was talking to one of the Guards. "You heard the summons. What else could it mean? The Greybeards..."

Cura caught her breath, and went down on one knee, and bowed her head. "M-my Jarl."

"So what happened at the watchtower? Was the dragon there?" Balgruuf demanded.

"Many of the Guards were killed, but we killed the dragon. Cura said, slowly rising to her feet.

"I knew I could count on Irileth. But there must be more to it than that." The Jarl pressed further, as he could see the distraught expression written all over Cura's gentle, round face. She cursed herself for always wearing her heart on her sleeve,

It took her a few seconds, and with a couple of throat clearings and trembling hands, Cura looked back up at the Jarl. Her jaw trembled as she recounted. "W-When the dragon died, I absorbed some kind of power from it. I don't know how, or why... but it was drawn to me... like a moth to a flame."

"So it's true. The Greybeards really were summoning you!" The Jarl's entire expression and tone changed from one of sternness, to one of shock and awe.

"One of the Guards mentioned the Greybeards, too." Cura noted. "Who are they? What could they want with me?"

"Masters of the Way of the Voice. They live in seclusion high on the slopes of the Throat of the World. The Dragonborn is 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."

That was what she heard on her way into the city.

Incredible.

"A gift?" She questioned.

"Indeed." The Jarl responded. "Not everyone can use the Thu'um. Only a special few throughout our History."

"The Greybeards used the Thu'um right before I entered the city." Cura was processing everything.

The Nord warrior adjacent to Proventus came over to Cura, with his eyebrows raised. "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!"

Proventus spoke up. "Hrongar, calm yourself. 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.'" He held his hand up in a dismissive manner,

Cura was caught in the middle on this one.

Hrongar immediately took offense. "Nord nonsense?! Why you puffed-up ignorant... these are our sacred traditions that go back to the founding of the First Empire!" Immediately, Balgruuf rebuked his brother before things could escalate. "Hrongar. Don't be so hard on Avenicci."

"I meant no disrespect, of course. It's just that... what do these Greybeards want with her?" Proventus pointed towards Cura in disbelief.

Balgruuf faced directly at Cura, and looked at his Steward with the corner of his eye. "That's the Greybeards' business, not ours." He leaned forward, and addressed the Vigilant directly. "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 honor."

Cura nodded. "I...I suppose so, but... I have matters to take care of, first."

Balgruuf clicked his tongue. "I envy you, you know. To climb the 7,000 Steps again... 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."

The Jarl diligently stood up from his seat, and walked up to Cura, and gestured for her to kneel.

Cura knelt and bowed her head, and the Jarl placed a hand upon it. "You've done a great deed for me and my city, Dragonborn. By my right as Jarl, I name you Thane of Whiterun. It's the greatest honor that's within my power to grant. I assign you Lydia as a personal Housecarl, and this weapon from my armory to serve as your badge of office."

Proventus came over and handed Cura the Axe of Whiterun; the special gift given ceremoniously to a new member of the Court upon their Name Day. Cura received the Axe with great honour, and a friendly smile, masking the ugliness she felt inside.

The Jarl released his hand, prompting Cura to stand again. "I'll also notify my guards of your new title. Wouldn't want them to think you're part of the common rabble, now would we? We are honored to have you as Thane of our city, Dragonborn."

She hated it. 'Dragonborn'.

Born of a Dragon.

Horrible creatures, and as destructive as the Daedra themselves.

And now she would forever be compared to one.

This wasn't a gift: it was a brand.

Still, being named a Thane was a high honour; Cura felt undeserving of such a title. "Thank you, my Jarl."

Balgruuf returned to the throne. "You're welcome. Now, if you don't mind, I have a city to run." he turned to Proventus. "Back to business, Avenicci."

"Yes, my Lord." Proventus bowed.

As Cura left the forum, a few children were staring at her. One of the boys sneered in her direction. "Another wanderer here to lick my father's boots. Good job."

Cura gave the boy a dirty look. What a rude little Skeever.

"Honoured to meet you, my Thane." she heard another voice in the court directed at her. She looked around for the source, then saw a very plain woman with brown hair wearing Steel Iron armour.

"Oh!" Cura exclaimed. "You're Lydia, right?"

"Yes." the woman said with a stern nod.

"I am your sword, and your shield. You are my Thane, and I will guard you, and all you own, with my life."

"I'm a Thane? What does that mean?" Cura asked. She knew it was an important title, but what it entails entirely, she was unsure. It seemed like she was getting many new titles she knew nothing about.

Lydia patiently spoke. "The Jarl has recognised you as a person of great importance in the hold. A hero. The title of Thane is an honor, a gift for your service. Guards will know to look the other way, if you let them know who you are."

"Ahh." Cura emoted. "I'd guessed so."

"So, where shall we go, my Thane?" Lydia asked.

"'We?'" Cura raised an eyebrow.

"I can't guard you if you're miles away." Lydia stated.

Cura was momentarily silent. She hadn't planned for any of this. So many changes, so quickly. And she only had 401 gold. She had to earn more for the Vigil. "Lydia, do you know of any work in Whiterun?"

"Well..." Lydia pondered. "maybe assisting some residents with their problems. Or, you could join the Companions. You defeated a Dragon, so I'm sure that they'd let you in."

Cura nodded. "Skjor offered just before. I suppose I could do a few jobs with them."

"Very good, my Thane." Lydia followed Cura outside of the castle.

It was a brave, new world.

Cura would have some interesting tales to share when she returned to the Vigil.