Jon's hands and feet sealed, his bones righted themselves and repaired, and his hemorrhaged brain sparked back to life just as he caught sight of the unfamiliar mead hall. The whites of his eyes were replaced by iris, and his pupils were reptilian. He also truly understood the meaning of the word he learned in Bleak-Falls, and Divine power was now on the very tip of his honeyed tongue.
Jon woke with a quick start just as Irileth and some guards made their way to him. Between heavy breaths, he said, "Wha-What the fuck. I just died. Second time. I know what it feels like, I know what you see. What happened?"
Irileth grabbed Jon and said, "You got tossed against this bolder after matching a Divines-damned dragon in a bout of strength! What in the Oblivion are you, man? What happened to your eyes? Answer me!"
One of the Fists, their leader, snapped, "Housecarl! That's your Thane, and the Dragonborn! Show some respect!"
Another of the Fists said, "Dragonborn, could it be?"
Irileth asked, "Dragonborn? Some Nord myth? Poppycock."
The leader said, "You saw the Dragonborn take the beast's power. That was him eating the dragon's soul. That's the only thing could explain it."
Jon cut in, dragon-eyes darting in both directions, "Dragonborn? And I can eat souls? And I can actually understand that word I learned from the wall. Like on a fundamental level, past just being able to read an ancient script as soon as I saw it."
The leader cut in, "See, that's more proof. Only a Dragonborn can take power from the walls, or read its writings naturally. It was an honor to fight by your side, my Thane and Dragonborn."
The Fists tried to take a knee, and Jon quickly stopped them. His voiced unintentionally boomed with the power of dragons across the tundra. "My friends! You have slain a dragon today! You bow to no one!"
Everyone flinched, and some grabbed for their ears, but they stopped their kneels. The leader said, "What say you now, Irileth?"
Irileth contemptuously said, "I don't care about some Nord myth. I care about this dead n'wah, and how nice its corpse is going to look next to my other one." Everyone laughed at her remark. She continued, "That still doesn't explain the bout of strength, before you quote, unquote, ate the dragon's soul."
The other Fist said, "Of course the Dragonborn has the strength of ten men. Talos Stormcrown was also said to be as strong as a Whiterun mare. It's why he rode only them."
Jon stated his piece to his comrades. He said, "I wasn't Dragonborn before I ate that soul. I feel different now. Like a different species. I could have done that before. I did do it before. Others of my kind could have done it as well." He took a centering breath before continuing, "I'm foreigner, you see. Not from Hammerfell, or the Akaviri continent. I don't know exactly how far I've come. The Patriarch of my house was an Arch-Alchemist. He could create life, so skilled was he, and I'm one of his creations."
The leader said, "To be given such gifts from birth, even before being blessed by Akatosh…"
Jon bit out with a low tone lest it carry, "It wasn't a gift! It was a curse! To be the only one of his foul spawn to see though the lies and indoctrination that lead us to atrocities! To see the potential of my people cast away in an ocean of blood and hatred! To have to kill those you grew up with because they refuse to see reason! Because they chose to spill the blood of innocents to prove their superiority! To see them make the same fucking mistakes, committing to the same follies, that every other inferior man and woman had been making since the time of epics! Heed my words, the name of my house is sullied and black, and these gifts have cursed me into a path of bloodshed and war to redeem it! Space, damnit! I wanted to go to space! We were eventually going to kill each other over the last of the resources, resources that our society had been chewing though at an industrial rate for over 100 years! I calculated no more than 50 years until the mad bastards actually did it! Space where the fucking resources are! I wanted to be the one that claimed humanity's birthright to its own solar system, and explore beyond! That was my superior fucking ambition for my superior fucking ability!"
The guards stood in awe of his rant. He was a foreigner, and apparently his people could take to the very heavens themselves? He was brought here somehow after a war for his homeland? He killed his own, crafted, people because their wickedness? This was not personal information any Fist felt they should be privy too, or could understand. They, and even the housecarl, all silently agreed to keep the Drangonborn's confidence. But, by his own words he was once again ripped from his honorable afterlife, and once again thrust into a fight he didn't ask for. That they did understand.
The leader said, "My Thane, Dragonborn. You've redeemed your house, this bloody day. I know not everything you speak of, but I know the sacrifice you made to buy us more time to slay the beast, to save Whiterun. Akatosh chose his champion well. I know this in my cold bones."
Jon softly replied, "Thank you, my friend. Now what the fuck happened to my eyes. Wait, I see."
Jon was looking off to the distance, at the circling ravens above Dragonsreach. Irileth asked, "What do your dragon eyes see?"
Jon chucked at the joke she would never get. He said, "Before I could accurately count the birds. Now I can count their feathers, along with the stray strands of thatching."
Irileth's Elve eyes held shock moment. She said, "That's certainly better than me. The birds are countable, but to much motion and I'll lose track."
Jon tested his superior eyes for another second upon her. He then said, "Alright, what of our losses?"
The leader said, "Only three survived the watchtower. Seven ahorse from the dragon's blast."
Jon said, almost absentmindedly, "Twenty-eight brave souls, the price of a city. Fair trade."
Everyone nodded and took to a moment of silence for the fallen. They would drink and cheer to their honor later. Jon broke the silence, "You should cover your ears."
They all did as they were ordered, and Jon took some steps to the crest of a small hill. He tested the power of his voice, "THE BEAST IS SLAIN! THE BEAST IS SLAIN! WHITERUN STANDS VICTORIOUS!" Any other augment would have claimed the victory for themselves. In fact, they wouldn't have claimed it at all because they would have been dead already.
Just on the edge of his Augment hearing, he could catch the city starting to rise up in celebration. It would only get louder as they got closer. Jon ordered the bodies of the fallen collected and prepared for funeral rights. He also ordered a contingent stay behind to man the post now that most of its original occupants are dead. While they carried out his orders, Irileth and Jon broke the skull of the dragon off its body and lashed it to their Whiterun steeds. They both held glory today.
Before they and their guard took off back to the city, one of the Fists said, "We should keep a guard around this stone too. It's holy now."
Jon's eyebrows shot up. He said, "No. Under no circumstances is anyone, and I mean anyone, to see me as some kind of god or religious figure. I don't care about your myths, or history, or the factual divinity of my nature. I am a man. And. That's. it. I'm also setting fire to that blood. Understood?"
The fist said, "But Dragonborn, It really is holy. You really are holy. Your blood is blessed by Akatosh. It would be blasphemy, to you and to them."
Jon countered, "And that's exactly why it needs to be destroyed. I don't care how many guards you place on it, some asshole is going to eventually get their hands on the holy Augment blood of the Mage and Akatosh blessed Dragonborn. Is that what you want?"
The Fist conceded, "No, I suppose not. I can think of any number of foul things someone could do with that, and I'm not even knowledgeable in such matters. My apologies, Dragonborn. It is yours to do with as you please, of course. It is your shrine."
Jon sighed, "Look, if you want it to be a holy rock, then it is. It will still be the place the Dragonborn died, and was remade. And it will be burned by his personal magics. But. But, but, but. This will be a holy place of Akatosh, the one who blesses, the one that had to save my sorry ass. Not me. Never me. Tell any who ask, I do not expect, nor demand, nor want any kind of reverence or worship. I meet all as equals, especially you, the mighty Fists of Whiterun. Clear?"
The guard nodded firmly at the Dragonborn's orders. He said, "You are a humble man, my Thane." And the smile on the Dragonborn told him he spoke correctly in his presence.
The convoy got underway, the Thane and Housecarl dragging the skull of the beast that dare attack the city of dragon-slayers while the Whiterun guard held firm. They passed small houses and collections of them along the main road, the people out chanting Dovahkiin, Dovahkiin, Dovahkiin! They had either seen the engagement themselves, or heard the shouting of the Dragonborn up close. They remembered their history, not myth. The history of Talos Stormcrown, Jarl of Windhelm. The man who conquered an empire. The man with the blood of a dragon. The man who mantled a god to protect his people. Skyrim always remembered.
As they got closer, yet more people lined the Imperial road. They picked whatever flowers were there and threw them before the parade as the dragonslayers passed by. As they moved towards the city, the religious cheers lessened, and general cheer took over. The convoy hauling the skull and bones was moving as a somewhat slow pace. Their steeds had earned glory and rest in equal measure.
Irileth turned to the man beside her. She said, "You know, I know any number of persons that would have instantly abused the faith of these men. And the faith of Whiterun. I can think of one in particular right now."
Jon guessed, "Ulfric Stormcloak?"
Irileth said, "You seem to have a handle on things, for being a foreigner. Yes. The man likes to pretend he's heir to the mortal legacy of Talos. It's an image he's cooked up, being the Jarl of Windhelm and using the dragon tongue. If all of this is really is true then you, are in fact, the heir mortal and otherwise. Ulfric may not like that. Tread carefully."
Jon said, "Thanks for the tip, but we were at Helgan together. Unless he's completely craven, he wont come after me. If he is, then that's the civil war concluded when I infiltrate his keep and slit his throat. As it stands, I suspect he will try to recruit me, while the Empire does the same. That's if he survived after entering the keep. We ran into Stormcloaks, he probably ran into Imperials. Its only been three days, so who knows what happened yet."
Irileth asked, "He's proven a hard man to kill before. Will you pick a side?"
Jon said, "The Worm and his lackeys have my full attention right now. If one of them wants to pick a side for me, then that will be their folly. In the meantime, I'm on the side of Whiterun, the place that readily offered me a home while knowing nothing about me or my past."
Irileth nodded and smiled. She was worried, after what she saw, about what exactly had entered her Jarl's court. Now she held no such qualms. She said, "My apologies, for grabbing and speaking to you as I did. You are Thane, and it was inappropriate."
Jon shot her a sharp look under his hood with his dragon eyes. He had a whole epiphany about womanizing people within hours of meeting them, but that was before he died again, and before he fought next to the current dark gem that held his dragon eyes. He said, "I don't mind your hands and talk on me. Inappropriately."
She shot him her own sharp look with her red eyes. With a small grin she said, "A night with a demi-god after slaying a dragon? How my life's adventure continues. I look forward to your blessing. Many blessings, with the strength of ten men behind you. In fact I expect it."
Jon laughed as they just met the perimeter of the outer city. Guards had taken position between the convoy and the cheering crowd, for everyone's safety. Thankfully no one was chanting religiously.
The party had, however, already started for Whiterun. Music, dance, and merriment coursed though every artery and vein of every person, and the streets themselves. Mead was being handed out by the bottle, mug, and barrel to every man, woman, and child. Once again Whiterun and proved itself the city of dragonslayers, with proof of their glory being dragged though the streets for all to see.
As the horses passed by the stables, Skulvar was doing a jig, and throwing apples at his charges. He ran up and down the convoy giving each of the steeds a fruit, and the horses themselves went completely wild at the sight of their passing friends and siblings. It was their red day of glory as well.
The guards at the gate threw the them open to allow them inside. The Jarl would want this proof of Whiterun's glory presented to him personally, at his seat of power. Proof of his leadership, and of his peoples bravery. They too held glory.
Jon gave orders, now that he could, as he passed. He said, "Guardsman, send forward word to the Jarl. Three survivors of the watchtower, seven lost ahorse. Near total destruction. A dozen guard were left at the post to man it and begin clean-up. And get the survivors somewhere sturdy, with peace and quiet."
"Yes, my Thane."
The guard nodded and took to his Thane's orders, no merchant was he. The guard ordered the guard next to him to take the survivors, and ran down the line of guards as fast as he could to deliver the words to the Jarl, dropping his steel and shield, removing even his guard helmet.
Happy cries and flowers continued to descend on the Thane, Housecarl, and Fists. They got louder and thicker as the procession continued to the market circle, leading up to the Wind District. At a certain point, the cobblestone streets of the city could not be seen.
Jon and Irileth brought their steed to a halt at the steps of the Wind District. They dismounted and unstrung the dragon skull from their steeds. Even Irileth could have pulled the thing, with effort, but they both heaved the skull up the steps, and into the Wind district. Their next destination was the Cloud District.
Nazeem, watching from the side, simply resigned from the feud then and there. He would have to tell the new Thane later, if he could even get words in. He could never match slaying a dragon and personally presenting its corpse to the Jarl.
The Thane and Housecarl passed the dying tree, and passed the statue of Talos. The preacher was trying to give a celebratory sermon as loud as he could, but even that was lost in the cheering to Jon's Augment ears. Was he even an Augment anymore? Jon didn't know. He hopped the changes weren't to drastic, and had a panic attack of body horror that thankfully was lost under his wizard hood, along with his dragon eyes. He certainly had new capabilities, but probably new weaknesses as well. Jon doubted Akatosh would simply come down and explain this all.
The steps to Dragonsreach were slightly more difficult for them. The steps turned, and they rose high. They both pulled up to a platform, heaved the skull to it, reoriented it, then repeated the process until they got to the bridge to the main door. One of the grand things was swung open wide so they could enter with their trophy.
The the Fists behind them, Jon and Irileth marched into Dragonsreach. Gerda was standing there with the widest smile. Jon looked at the wooden steps and said, "Gerda, we're probably going to damage your immaculate looking steps."
Gerda scoffed, "Boy, after slaying a dragon you can do whatever the Oblivion you want to those steps, and me."
Jon couldn't contain laughter, and it only got harder when Irileth said, "Back off, you hag, I've already claimed his warmth for the night myself, by right of dragon-slaying."
Gerda had a lopsided grin on her face. She said, "Alright, you got me this time, whore. Don't think I wont remember the next time I serve you some slop, by right of you being a stingy bitch."
They both had a good relationship, and Irileth laughed as she and her Thane began pulling the skull up the final stairs to the grand mead hall. Cheers and the clinking of mugs filled it all the while. The space in between the grand fire and long-tables was clear of party-goers to give the dragonslayers room to approach their Jarl.
Irileth was sweating from the ordeal, and even Jon was feeling a workout, as they finally placed the dragon's skull at the feet of the sitting Jarl. His face was benign, his position on his throne oblong and arrogant. He has his chin in one hand as he contemptuously eyed the beast that dare attack his city of dragonslayers while the Whiterun guard held firm.
Thane Jon beat his fist to his chest, giving a short bow as well. He said, "Jarl Bulgruuf the Greater!" He left it hang a moment so the hall could quiet down. He pumped his fist and continued, "We have slain the beast as you have commanded of us!"
The Jarl rose from his throne with a smile, and it became even wider when he caught a glimpse of a single green eye under his Thane's hood. The fact he didn't shout his way though Whiterun as proof of his divinity also spoke greatly of his character. Akatosh had chosen well, not that the humble Jarl had any right to question it in the first place.
The roars of the crowd continued, this time louder then before. Jon and Irileth both looked to their Jarl with grins to match his. The Fists stood at full attention behind them, knowing things that others do not, and maybe should not, know.
The Jarl motioned for his peoples silence. They quieted. He said, "It was here, during the first age, where Olaf One-Eye trapped and killed the dragon that hangs before us! It was here, on this hill, where Whiterun became the home of dragonslayers! It was here where proof of our glory hung, and here where yet more will hang! Death to the dragons!"
"Death to the dragons!" Everyone in the hall cheered before quieting again, lest their Jarl wished to keep speaking.
The Jarl said, "My Thane. I notice your steel is missing. Did you perhaps break it off in that dragon's ass, in the name of your Jarl?"
Everyone in the room laughed before quieting down again. Jon said, "Apologies my Jarl, but you will have to be satisfied with taking the beast's eye in your name. Right before the Housecarl Irileth used the broken steel to strike the killing blow with lighting magic," the crowd began to rise, "and after the brave Whiterun guard held firm!"
The Jarl smiled again as rapturous cheers once again took the hall. The Dragonborn was indeed humble. He could have claimed the victory for himself as the man that truly killed the dragon, and stood before the crowd as their living god, yet he made a point of others receiving their glory as well with no mention of his divinity. Not only was the Jarl's court the first attended by this humble and holy man, the Jarl had a feeling that Whiterun would always be his home no matter what title he received elsewhere. He would have words for the Dragonborn later about that.
The cheers quieted down after a moment and the Jarl said, "Irileth! The Dragon-slayer! You are a Housecarl no more, Keel!"
Irileth immediately took a knee in front of her Jarl. The Jarl pulled out his sword, made from dragon bone. He then followed the southern practice of knighting a person while saying, "I dub thee Thane! And give you my personal weapon as your symbol of title! Rise, Thane Irileth!"
Once more people cheered nearly hoarse before quieting. The Jarl looked at the Dragonborn, not daring to ask him to kneel no matter how humble the man was. He said while Proventus handed him another sword, "You have unfortunately been Thaned without ceremony, as there was no time before you took off to defend your city. When the dragon that hangs before us was slew, five swords were made from its bones. Two remain in Whiterun, and here they will continue to be. I give you this, the last, as your badge of title. May it serve you well, Thane Jon!"
Jon pulled the sword from its simple leather scabbard, and brought it up in a formal salute. He inspected it all the while, and saw a bastard gripped, smooth, straight-sword napped or forged into a perfect, near translucent edge; The nano-edge would likely hold though most anything. The handle and pommel was made out of an unknown, but dense, black metal covered in ancient Nord runes; The balance was perfect. The metal reinforced just over half the blade; This would not break off the next time he decided to skull-fuck a dragon.
He then held the sword up, his inner sense of childhood wonder and fantasy, and his outer sense of psychological operations, clawed their way onto his honeyed words. He said, "I dub this Whiterun weapon of war, Dragon'sbane!"
Every fist in the hall went up, Even the Fists'. The chanted and cajoled once more before falling into a steady, "War! War! War! War! War!"
Jon cried, "Death to the dragons!"
"DEATH TO THE DRAGONS!"
"DEATH TO THE DRAGONS!"
"DEATH TO THE DRAGONS!"
The Jarl quietly motioned once again for silence, and the crowd quickly subsided. He cried, "A FEAST! A GRAND FEAST TO CELEBRATE THIS GRAND VICTORY! THE FIRST IN WHITERUN'S WAR AGAINST THE DRAGONS!"
While he couldn't hear the grunts and curses of the kitchen staff, he could see the downward cast of their looks, and the anger in their faces. The Jarl was an unfair man indeed. Onward yet they marched towards Sovngarde, however. The entire time the cities population was sheltering, they were continuing their duties to feed those in Dragonsreach. They began heaving carts though the crowd to stock the heaping piles of food for the attendees of the Jarl's Grand Feast. To the already drunk crowd's credit, they did their best to move out of the way.
Jon and Irileth each grabbed for the other at the same time as the crowd once again went wild. Jon won the test of strength, and pulled her deeply into his arms and honeyed mouth. The crowd was now as wild as Whiterun stock.
Irileth forcefully pulled herself away with a smile and hungry look, and was about to pull the sturdy man to a place more private. The Jarl reminded the Thanes of their duties. He said, "May I speak you you, my friends? In private."
"Of course, my Jarl." The both said at the same time.
The walked arm and arm up the stairs to the Jarl's personal work area and office. The space was wide open like the rest of Dragonsreach, and led yet further back still to the back deck of the keep. There was a grand table there, with a dominating map of Skyrim, just as detailed and accurate as Jon's smaller one. It had military positions marked all over it, red and blue, and Jon made note of them in his memory.
On the lower left hand corner it had the same seal of the East Empire Company that his had. He wondered if they had a monopoly on maps such as this by way of a printing press and survey methods that others didn't have, or hadn't invented yet. All of the Tomes Jon had so far glanced into so far were hand written; he could tell that before even being able to read them. They were well made, obviously produced at scale with some quality control, with good penmanship, but they were handwritten all the same. These maps had to be printed.
Farengar was waiting for them. He had marked the first two dragon sighting at Helgan and the unmarked watchtower. He spoke, "Dragonborn. My apologies, but I've broken your confidence. I told the Jarl what you told me. Even our speculation about Hermaeus Mora."
Jon said, "You had a duty to do so. The Jarl invited in a man into his court potentially cursed by a Deadric Prince. The man is also apparently a living demi-god now, and his origins are not of whatever this planet is called. I'm a walking weapon of mass destruction besides, if I can command the power of dragons? The Jarl has a right to know that such a man walks in his lands. I honestly expected you to tell him, I probably would have told him myself, just not when we're all half mad form exhaustion or in open court. Shit came at us fast."
The Jarl put his hand on Farengar's shoulder. He said, "See, Farengar? I told you he was the type of man that would understand. You're on Nirn, by the way. The continent of Tamriel, in the Kingdom of Skyrim. I'll not insult my Thane by telling him which hold. If I may ask, what is you homeland called? I'll not tell a soul, but eventually the songs and history about this age's Great Hero will need to be written. You're not the first visitor from outside Nirn. Not even the first 'walking weapon of mass destruction.' Dagon was the greatest threat the world had never known, until now. He wasn't even the first."
Jon took a moment to humble himself. Any other Augment would be dead right now. The threats were numerous, and probably superior. He said, "Earth. I was born, raised, and did a lot of fighting in a country called Afghanistan. I served another country, the United States of America, in the Green Berets. Earth is place that looks somewhat similar this one, but no magic. Well, at least not when I left. Now that I've seen magic first hand, maybe there's something to the old epics and myths. I've also saw Valhalla first hand before I was revived, the first time I died. So there may be something there too."
The Jarl said, "First time? When was the second? Just now? Is that what all that blood on you is from?"
Irileth answered, "Yes my Jarl. He matched a dragon in strength before being thrown against a bolder, damn near breaking the thing. Then when we finally killed the beast, he 'ate its soul' apparently. Then he woke up healthy as a mare with dragon eyes."
The Jarl didn't even question his Thane matching a dragon. Those from outside Nirn were known to be strong. At least the man was a man, and not a Daedra. He asked, "What did you see this time? Valhalla, or Sovngarde? Or maybe they're the same place with different names."
Jon said, "The mead hall was different. It was certainly Sovngarde. But there was something wrong. A mist that I could only barely see though. Corruption, I could taste and smell. Now I don't know if I just decided to go to Sovngarde next to the brave Fists of Whiterun, or because of my physical location and that was the only place to go."
Farengar answered, "It's because of your dragon soul. It's commanded by Akatosh. Sovngarde is the only place you will go when you die. At least according to the myths. And if you don't ascend to godhood like Talos Stormcrown. But make no mistake, whatever you were before, you became Dovah after eating that soul. Perhaps our speculation about how you got here was wrong. Seeing patterns that weren't there. Its entirely possible for Akatosh to bring you here and bless you with a dragon soul."
The Jarl said, "I'll tell you, if you did get brought here by and cursed by a Prince somehow, there's no better ally in your corner than the Chief of the Divines."
Jon nodded, "So we're basically back to square one on how I got here. We don't know for a fact that Akatosh did it, just that he chose me as Dragonborn. Why me though?
Irileth gave him a firm hit in the arm, "You know why, Thane Idiot."
Jon chuckled, "Yeah, I guess matching a dragon in strength creates a reputation. Aren't there other brave strongmen in Skyrim, though? Was it because I was in the right place at the right time? Because Akatosh did bring me here? If so, why pluck me from my war when he did? Literally right before the final battle. Again why me and not someone else? Bah, this speculation is meaningless at this point. Even if I could go back right now, I wouldn't, at least until that fucking Worm is dead and its skull mounted above my Jarl's throne."
The Jarl smiled and nodded. He was a good judge of character. That's why only certain merchants were given title. His people often complained about too many merchants having it, and he nominally agreed, but he needed the merchants almost as much as he needed warriors like the two in front of him. Thus merchants got title in Whiterun, but not filthy money-changers.
He asked, "What of the corruption?"
Farengar answered, "Probably from Alduin. He'll most likely use it to trap and eat all of the souls that go there. To increase his power so he can eventually eat the world."
Irileth said, "Well thank the fucking Divines that n'wah Stormcloak started a rebellion and sent souls there by the thousands. It was exquisite timing on his part."
Farengar said, "I found a foot note in an old tome about an ancient prophecy. The scrap mentioned that the sons and daughters of Skyrim spilling each others blood would herald Alduin's return. That was all it had though, and the author noted that there was more that was lost."
The Jarl said, "Damn that Stormcloak! He bought the beasts to our very doorstep with his actions! Sullied our honored dead! Well, there's nothing we can do about the corruption of Sovngarde, not yet at least. We can only pray to the Divines for their relief."
Jon looked into the eyes of his Jarl and said, "The guard of Whiterun rode to Sovngarde today over the corpse of their dragon enemy. They'll hold firm."
The Jarl nodded at the confidence of his Thane, and he too found some. He said, "Damn straight they will. Now, recommendations for fighting our enemies in the mortal coil."
Irileth said, "We broke our cavalry into two formations, and the harassed the dragon from all sides while me and my piece of meat kept its attention." Everyone smiled, and Jon pulled Irileth a little closer. She continued, "The formations need to be loose. All of our mounted losses came from a single blast into the cavalry circle. Now the bastard was grounded from a torn wing, so there wasn't much else to do but eat the losses and kill it fast. Standing still and letting it turn on you is worse than trying your luck at that point."
Jon said, "I also recommend shelter be prioritized into underground constructions. The sewers and keep basement and the like. The dragon was able to knock down most of the tower, but luckily it wasn't as fast or as destructive as the Worm, nor was that dragon as seemingly impervious. Stone buildings and towers make still good fighting positions, however, and that's true for any type of enemy. As they destroy, you only gain more opportunity for cover and ambush. You absolutely need better arrows than iron and steel. The watchtower did everything they could, but they just didn't have the tools to hurt the beast quick enough. Farengar, your bow spell worked perfectly. More of those, and train guard to cast them if that's possible."
Farengar nodded thoughtfully and said, "That would be difficult to train guards to cast like that. The spell is not the easiest, and I did not truly know if you could manage it when I gave it too you. However potions can easily fortify whats needed to make the cast. As they practice. they'll get better at it over time, especially if its the only spell they have to learn. Every guard could potentially have a bow in their hands capable of damaging the dragon. That would be an expensive undertaking, my Jarl, for the potions and the tomes. Perhaps a start with a small corps first to test the feasibility of such a program."
The Jarl nodded. He said, "Yes, I'll have Proventus get with you. Any final recommendations?"
Jon said, "You wont like it."
The Jarl said, "Try me."
Jon said, "I recommend you split up the Fists, or at least make them a cadre for a much larger formation. They're dragon-slayers now, every one. They need to first put their knowledge to paper, then they need to be training the guard here, and then the guard elsewhere. Some should be sent to other courts as your emissaries to brief other Jarl's of the threat, and to share their experience. Both sides of the conflict. Other courts outside Skyrim as well, as I doubt our enemies care about national borders"
The Jarl said, "You're right. I don't like the idea of splitting up my personal guard and fixers, or doing anything that helps those Stormcloaks now that I know what I know. But you're also right that a single formation will not stem the tide. We need more trained in the ways of dragon-slaying, and the beasts are a threat to all. Nominally, I've been pretty neutral in the war. Technically loyal to the empire, but I've kept trade moving though Whiterun to both sides. I'll keep my thoughts to myself about the cause of the dragons returning. I accept your recommendations Thane Jon, Thane Irileth. Thank you for attending this war council."
Jon asked, "Question, my Jarl. What are my duties and obligations as Thane now? Back home, the closest I can come up with is a Knight, and they have courtly obligations under their lords."
The Jarl answered, "Thane is just the northern word for the same type of position and title. For Irileth, she will have the normal obligations, working with the Fists to train, and advising me at court. Nothing much has changed for her. For you? The are no obligations, you're the Dragonborn for literal Divines sake. You have grander journeys ahead of you, and I don't expect to see you much after you leave. All I ask is that you visit your friend and Jarl when you pass by. In addition to never charging you, her, or the Fists taxes again, I also grant you Breezehome, near the gate and blacksmith so you may rest your head when you do return. Its been on the market a while, no one that could afford it wanting to live in that particular spot, but you've earned it by right of dragon-slaying. Speak to Proventus about renovating it."
Jon disengaged himself from Irileth, and bowed to his Jarl. The Jarl was nearly offended at the deference he was being shown by one so honorable and holy. Jon said, "Thank you Jarl Bulgruuf, you are a gracious man. On the honor of my house, I will attend court when I am able."
The Jarl smiled and nodded. He said, "Good. I'm going back to the party. You both take your fill of food, mead, and each other. Heh, the songs are practically writing themselves at this point."
The Jarl left his war council, back to the party. Before the rest left, Farengar said, "Speaking of grander journeys, I think you should make the pilgrimage to High Hrothgar. It's here on the map. You get there by way of Ivarstead. Follow the 7000 steps, and speak to the Graybeards. They haven't called you yet, but I'm guessing that's because you haven't used your Thu'um, or Voice, yet."
Jon said, "No, I haven't. I already had hardened guard bowing to me like I'm their messiah. Maybe, factually, I am given the nature of magic and real divinity, but I do not want that kind of reverence. Plus, I still have to get to the College."
Farengar nodded, "That you do, as I doubt you could, or want to, shout every single enemy to death with Divine power. However, the Thu'um is what you'll really need to defeat dragons. The Greybeards are masters of the Way of The Voice. They'll help you understand the power you hold, and what's happened to you. I suspect the first time you use that word you learned, all of Skyrim will hear their call. If you want to keep some kind of anonymity, then you should take the initiative and go there first."
Jon smiled, "What did a lowly apprentice like me do to deserve a master like you. Thank you again for your wise counsel, Master Farengar."
Farengar laughed and said, "You slew a Divines-damned dragon and ate its fucking soul! I'll leave you two to continue the council. I'm sure many things of great import will be spoken of."
Jon and Irileth laughed before taking each other in, before the wizard had even gotten to the steps. They both agreed that their adventures meant no commitments except, perhaps, to see each other again for another night. His hand found its way up her leg, and to the warmth he would enjoy. Her hand found its way to the mighty steed she would be mounting. Any other concerns and obligations could wait until the next morning.