Chapter 4
They had a little trouble getting into the city proper. The guard at the gate told them everything was closed because of the threat of dragons. Marcus noted in disgust that Aela and Company had already preceded them into town and had had no trouble passing through the gates. Tamsyn reminded him they lived here, while she and Marcus were strangers.
"So basically, they already know," he said sourly. "We came all this way for nothing."
"We still need to ask the Jarl to send men to Riverwood," Tamsyn reminded him. Turning to the guard she insisted, "Riverwood calls for aid. The Jarl needs to send men to help with the defense."
"Truly?" the guard queried. "Very well, you may go in. The Jarl is up at Dragonsreach, at the top of the hill."
Tamsyn thanked him and waited for the gate to open before passing through it, with Marcus behind her.
The first thing he noticed was a large smithy – larger than Alvor's in Riverwood – situated to the right side, just past the canal. This one included a smelter, set back from the road. Everything seemed to go uphill from this point, with what looked to be some sort of tavern or inn on a small rise to the left, just across the road from the gatehouse. "The Drunken Huntsman", it was called, and Marcus privately chuckled at the name. There was a story there, to be sure.
There was some sort of altercation going on in front of "Warmaiden's", the smithy, but Tamsyn didn't stay to listen, pushing on toward an open-air market. At the far end of the market, before the road turned left, Marcus saw another inn with a sign that read, "The Bannered Mare". Tamsyn pointed out the general store, "Belethor's" and an alchemy shop, "Arcadia's" before moving past the central well and the outdoor stalls to a flight of stairs the led up to some kind of park. The main focus of this area was a large, dead tree surrounded by benches, and ringing this area were several smaller buildings, what appeared to be some sort of shrine at which a priest was pontificating, and one huge, impressive edifice which looked like an ancient boat or ship, turned upside down and built under.
"Wow!" he breathed, awed in spite of himself. "What's that?"
Tamsyn stopped and looked back. She smiled. "That's Jorrvaskr," she explained. "That's the mead hall of the Companions. It's where Aela, Ria and Farkas live when they're not being contracted as mercenaries."
Marcus made a mental note to come back here after they were done talking to the Jarl.
He followed Tamsyn up another twisting flight of steps, past a retention pond that emptied into a cistern, and further up to the highest level of the city, across a long bridge over a waterway to the largest building he'd seen yet: the impressive palace of Dragonsreach. Tamsyn spoke quickly and quietly to the guard at the main entrance and they were waved inside.
It was warmer than he expected inside. Ever since he'd woken up in Skyrim, he'd been aware of the cold, and he'd noticed on several occasions that Tamsyn seemed to shiver quite a bit. She was doing it now, even as warm as the day had seemed to be, but breathed a sigh of relief as a wave of heat radiated toward them from a large central firepit set above them up a short flight of stairs. Servants were sweeping either side of the entryway, and up the stairs two long dining tables were set up facing each other on either side of the firepit. At the far end, several stairs up on a raised dais, sat on an ornate chair under a huge skull that could only belong to a dragon. The narrow maw was filled with rows of serrated, foot-long teeth, and the top was crowned with two sets of curved, evil-looking horns.
Marcus felt an unaccountable flash of anger at the sight of the skull. He couldn't pinpoint why it bothered him, especially given the events of just a few short days ago. He just felt it was wrong to hold such a majestic beast up as a trophy. He shook his head to clear it of these thoughts. He needed to concentrate on the matter at hand.
Beneath the dragon's skull, seated on the throne, was the man they called Jarl Balgruuf the Greater, the lord of Whiterun. But to get to him they had to cross the distance from the main entrance; a distance swiftly closed by a dark-skinned elf with red hair in leather armor, wielding a very sharp-looking sword.
"Who dares to approach?" she glared at them menacingly. "The Jarl is not receiving visitors!"
Tamsyn opened her mouth to speak, but Marcus had had enough. He'd been nearly beheaded, scorched, stabbed, and Shouted at, and he was heartily sick of the suspicion and hostility he'd experienced so far. He just wanted to deliver the message and get on with what appeared to be his new life.
"There's been a dragon attack on Helgen," he snapped before Tamsyn could say anything. "The place was leveled. Riverwood's in danger and they wanted us to tell you so you could send in the troops. Can we go now?" This last bit was directed at Tamsyn as much as the Dunmer, but the armored woman stood a bit straighter and put away her sword.
"Well, that explains why the guards let you in here," she said, a bit kinder – but not much. The suspicion was still there. "Come with me. Jarl Balgruuf will want to speak to you personally." She turned and retreated to her lord's side, murmuring quietly to him. He sat up straighter and beckoned the two wanderers forward.
Jarl Balgruuf of Whiterun was a lean, hard-looking man who appeared to be in his middle forties. There were only a few strands of silver in his otherwise blonde hair, which was captured by a jeweled golden circlet resting around his forehead. His tunic and hose looked to be made of the finest fabric in deep, rich earth tones accented with red and gold, and over this he wore – even in the warm hall – a cape of fur, though his arms were bare. Soft leather boots completed his lordly outfit. His blue eyes speared both Marcus and Tamsyn in turn and his voice, when he spoke, was deep and commanding.
"So," he began in a thick, Nord accent, "You were at Helgen? You saw this dragon with your own eyes? This wasn't some Stormcloak raid gone wrong?"
At this point, Marcus thought of several things he could have said, none of them very nice or diplomatic. Sure, I had a great view as the Imperials were about to cut off my head. However, this man before him was, after all, one of the ruling entities in this new world into which he'd been thrust. There was no sense in antagonizing the man or making an enemy of him. He decided to take a more tactful route. For her part, Tamsyn remained silent beside him, seemingly willing to let him take the lead.
"No, my lord," Marcus replied politely. "There was most definitely a dragon, and it attacked Helgen and destroyed it. The last we saw of it, it was headed this way. That was two days ago."
"By Ysmir," the Jarl murmured, "Irileth was right! What do you say now, Proventus?" He turned to the man in gray robes standing behind him to his right. "Do we trust in the strength of our walls, against a dragon?"
Proventus was an Imperial, by the look of him, with a balding head sporting a ring of dark hair turning gray, and clear brown eyes set in a roundish face. He wore an elaborately quilted surcoat of gray, belted at the waist, over soft gray trousers. His boots appeared to be more suited to court life than adventuring, but were nonetheless crisscrossed with lacings from his ankles to his knees. His posture implied a man who was used to being obsequious, and when he spoke it was in soft, cajoling tones of deference to his lord.
"As in all things, caution, my lord," he replied. Clearly, he was not willing to commit himself to anything that could be held against him later.
The dark elf, Irileth, stepped forward immediately, the look of disgust over Proventus' advice clearly marked on her face.
"My lord, we should send troops to Riverwood at once," she urged. "It's in the most immediate danger if that dragon is still lurking around in the mountains."
Appalled, Proventus interjected. ""The Jarl of Falkreath will view that as a provocation! He'll assume we're preparing to join Ulfric's side and attack him. We should not-"
But Balgruuf had clearly heard enough, and said as much. "Enough!" he barked. "I'll not sit idly by while a dragon burns my Hold and slaughters my people! Irileth, send a detachment to Riverwood at once!"
"Yes, my Jarl," the dark elf replied, barely hiding a smug smile. She saluted and half-bowed, crossing her right arm over her chest, then turned on her heel and left the hall.
"If you'll excuse me, my lord," Proventus said stiffly, obviously offended at being overruled, "I'll return to my duties." He bowed as well.
"That would be best," Balgruuf snapped. He faced Marcus and Tamsyn again, and they both heard the breath of frustration he blew out before composing himself. It was clear to both that mediating between his Steward and his Housecarl was something Balgruuf had been required to do on more than one occasion.
"Well done, young man," he smiled, his manner gracious once more. "You sought me out, on your own initiative. You've done Whiterun a service, and I won't forget it." He rose and went over to a nearby chest and opened it, pulling something out. He came back to Marcus with a suit of heavy steel armor and presented it to him.
"Please," the Jarl insisted, "take this as a small token of my esteem." Marcus gaped and took the gift reflexively. It would have thunked to the floor if he hadn't.
"Th-thank you, my lord!" he stuttered. He knew enough about history from his old world to know this was a princely gift. He turned to look at Tamsyn, who merely smiled and gave him a surreptitious 'thumbs-up' gesture. He bowed awkwardly and wondered if that was it? Were they free to go now? But the Jarl wasn't finished with him yet, it appeared.
"There is another thing you could do for me," Balgruuf said slowly, looking over the two before him in a speculative manner. "Suitable for someone of your particular talents, perhaps? Come, let's go find Farengar, my court wizard. He's been looking into a matter related to these dragons and…rumors of dragons."
As they followed the Jarl to a room set to one side of the main hall, Marcus wondered how the man would know anything at all about his 'particular talents'. They'd only just met! But he supposed anyone who had managed to escape Helgen and live to tell about it must be either incredibly lucky or incredibly resourceful. He wondered which of those descriptions fit him better, but didn't like his conclusions.
"Farengar," Jarl Balgruuf called out as they entered the smaller chamber. "I think I've found someone who can help you with your dragon project. Go ahead, fill them in with all the details."
The court wizard, a string-bean of a man not much older than Balgruuf himself, nodded and bowed as the Jarl left them to it. The deep hood of his blue robes obscured most of his face, but Marcus could see ridiculous-looking mutton-chop sideburns crawling down the man's cheeks. Piercing blue eyes looked down a long, thin nose at the two of them. A thin lip half curled in a sort of sneer, and Marcus decided there and then that he didn't like the man at all.
"So, the Jarl thinks you can be of use to me?" the mage drawled. "Oh yes, he must be referring to my research into the dragons." He looked them both up and down again, eyes lingering on Tamsyn's robes. An eyebrow arched, but he made no comment. "Yes, I could use someone to fetch something for me. Well, when I say 'fetch', I really mean delve into a dangerous ruin in search of an ancient stone tablet that may or may not actually be there."
At the words 'stone tablet', Marcus suddenly felt very smug, and he glanced over at Tamsyn, who looked as though butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. He crinkled his eyes at her in amusement and slipped the backpack off his shoulders, digging into it and retrieving the carved piece of rock.
"You mean this stone tablet?" he asked, as innocently as he could, enjoying the expression on the wizard's face as Farengar's jaw dropped.
"Oh!" the older man said faintly. "The Dragonstone of Bleak Falls Barrow! You already found it!" Farengar's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "You are a cut above the usual brutes the Jarl foists on me."
"We've found the tablet for you," Tamsyn asked quickly before the wizard could ask too many probing questions. "What happens now?"
"Ah," Farengar beamed. "Well, that is where your job ends and mine begins. The work of the mind, you see, sadly underrated here in Skyrim—"
A commotion was escalating in the main hall just outside, and suddenly Irileth rushed in.
"Farengar!" she called sternly. "A dragon has been sighted near the western watchtower! Jarl Balgruuf wants to speak with you at once!" She noticed Marcus and Tamsyn still standing there. "You two had better come, too," she advised them, before running back out into the hall.
"A dragon!" Farengar exclaimed, following her. "How exciting! What was it doing?"
"I'd take this a bit more seriously if I were you," Irileth said scathingly. "If a dragon does decide to attack Whiterun, I don't know that we can stop it!"
Their voices faded, leaving Marcus and Tamsyn standing in Farengar's study.
"Do we follow them?" Marcus asked her.
"I think we have to, Marcus," she said soberly. "Remember how I said delivering the stone would set off a chain of events? This is that chain playing out."
"But we don't have to fight that thing, do we?" Marcus asked, more than a bit nervous.
"It's not the same dragon, trust me on this one," she assured him. "And we won't be alone; we'll have help. But we have to hit it hard and hit it fast with everything we've got, or more people will die."
"I can't do spells," Marcus said grimly, "and I'm not that good with a bow yet."
"Then you'll have to take advantage of its time on the ground, and it will be my job to help bring it down," Tamsyn promised. "We can't let another Helgen happen, Marcus."
"No," he agreed bleakly. "But I'm not going up against that thing in this flimsy tin-can armor. The Jarl gave me this suit of steel. Do I have time to get into it?"
"You do if I help you," she replied. "But we should still hurry."
Marcus felt only a moments' remorse at the money spent on a suit of armor he'd worn less than a day, but he couldn't argue that the steel armor was far better made – no offense to Alvor's craftsmanship – and he knew he'd be looking for any edge against a dragon. Ten minutes later found him still fastening straps as he ran up the stairs to join the Jarl and the others. Tamsyn had filled him in on a few particulars about what to expect, but he still had the feeling she wasn't telling him everything she knew.
"Ah! There you are, young man!" Jarl Balgruuf exclaimed, giving him an approving look as he noticed Marcus wearing the new set of armor. "There's no time to stand on ceremony, my friend. I need your help once more. I want you to go with Irileth and help her fight this dragon. You survived Helgen, both of you, so you have more experience with dragons than anyone else here."
So now he was the Jarl's friend? Good to know. Marcus was tempted to remind the Jarl that his 'experience' was limited to surviving an attack, not fighting the damned things, but Balgruuf was speaking again.
"I haven't forgotten the service you did for me in retrieving the Dragonstone for Farengar." He knew about that? He must have been eavesdropping just outside the door, then. "I've instructed Avenicci that you are now permitted to purchase property in the city. And please, accept this gift from my personal armory." He presented Marcus with a finely-made steel helmet, which made Marcus feel that much better about facing down a dragon. At least his head had better protection now, and he could ditch the ridiculous-looking iron helmet.
Under the iron helmet was the hide one he'd made himself; he'd been using it as a sort of padding under the iron. He slipped the hide helmet off and looked at it. He'd made it himself, and it had served him fairly well going through Bleak Falls Barrow. He looked at Tamsyn, in her cloth robes and woolen hood, and offered the hide helmet to her, but she shook her head.
"This hood is enchanted to enhance my magicka," she said quietly, so as not to interrupt the Jarl giving final instructions to Farengar and Irileth. "Just put it away for now."
"One last thing, Irileth," Balgruuf was saying now. "This isn't a 'death or glory' mission. I need to know what we're dealing with."
"Don't worry, my lord," she assured him. "I'm the very soul of caution." She headed down the stairs back to the main hall and eventually outside to muster her troops. Marcus and Tamsyn followed in her wake, passing Farengar on the stairs as they did so.
"How I envy you!" Farengar gushed. "The chance to see a real, live dragon! The possibilities for research are endless!"
If he'd had time, Marcus would have given the clueless wizard a dressing down for his naïveté. As it was, he merely barked over his shoulder, "If I ever get a chance to talk with one, I'll make sure you're there!" He didn't see the perplexed, but happy look on the mage's face, and totally missed Tamsyn nearly choking on words unsaid.
They followed Irileth through the darkening streets of Whiterun. Why had the damned thing picked now to attack? It would be nearly impossible to see it in the dark! Tamsyn didn't look happy about it either.
"We should have waited until morning," she muttered, but her comment made no sense. If they'd waited until morning the dragon would still have attacked tonight. Wouldn't it have? He wasn't so sure anymore.
Irileth had gathered a handful of Whiterun's finest, and they stood with the group while she gave them a pep talk.
"We're so dead," one guard muttered, and Marcus hoped he was wrong. Tamsyn seemed to think they could kill the creature, and Irileth seemed bound and determined to make that happen. He had to trust in the lessons Ralof and Faendal had taught him, and hope he lived through this long enough to join the Companions, if they let him in. If he was going to be a mercenary, he wanted to train with the best, and anyone who could bring down a giant ranked high on that short list right now.
And then they were moving, out of the gates of Whiterun, past the drawbridge and the stables, and turning right down a cobblestone road toward the watchtower. As they approached, it was obvious to all that the dragon had been there. Marcus wasn't sure what condition the tower had been in to start with – most of the buildings he'd seen so far seemed to be in some state of disrepair – but now it resembled a crumbling ruin, with piles of stone and wood lying scattered and shattered all about. Hot spots of timber and grass burned fiercely, and in the glare Marcus thought he saw burned bodies. He fought down the urge to be sick.
"Spread out," Irileth ordered. "I know it looks bad, but we have to figure out what's happened. See if you can find any survivors."
Marcus wasn't sure where to start looking, but Tamsyn gestured to him to follow her to what remained of the tower. Part of it had tumbled down, forming a broken ramp up to an open doorway. As they approached, a man crazed with fear cried out, "No! No! Stay back! It's still out there! Hroki and Tor got grabbed when they tried to make a run for it!"
They must have been the bodies Marcus had seen, and he felt rage fill him. He was tired of running; tired of being afraid. A cold resolve gripped him. Tamsyn was right: they couldn't let another Helgen happen.
"Look out! It's coming back!" he heard a voice cry from outside the tower. He rushed out and in the light of this world's two moons saw a gleaming red shape swooping overhead, roaring out its challenge to lesser beings, and strafing the ground with its flame.
"Marcus!" Tamsyn cried. "Drink this now!" She shoved a bottle into his hand.
"I'm not hurt," he protested, anxious to get into a defensible position.
"It's a potion of Resist Fire," she clarified, before bracing a bow she'd taken from Bleak Falls Barrow and nocking a steel arrow on the string.
"Oh!" he blinked, before popping the cork off and downing it in one slug. He tossed the empty bottle to one side and charged forward, drawing his battleaxe, because the beast had landed not far away. The next several minutes passed in a blur, and he never remembered whirling the heavy weapon around like a windmill, hacking and slashing at the dragon's face, dodging out of the way as it snapped at him, and letting the wave of fire wash over him. Yes, it stung, but not as badly as he feared. The padded steel armor and helmet took the brunt of the damage, though he felt uncomfortably warm, and the potion absorbed most of the rest.
Vaguely, he remembered Irileth shooting it with spikes made of pure ice, and Tamsyn was off to one side somewhere keeping up a steady stream of frost until her magicka ran out, then targeting it again with her bow. The other guards peppered its tough hide with their arrows that did little damage, or hacked away at it with their swords. At one point the dragon attempted to get airborne once more, perhaps realizing it had bitten off – figuratively – more than it could chew, but Marcus was relentless. No way in hell was he letting this wyrm get away to terrorize some other village or kill anyone else.
With nearly superhuman effort, he brought the axe down so fiercely that he practically chopped its wing off. It roared as it died, in a language he somehow understood, but couldn't repeat.
"Dovahkiin, NO!" it cried.
The dragon slumped to the ground, bleeding and broken, and the guards around him set up a cheer, many of them slapping him on the back.
"Never seen anyone fight like that!"
"That's a true warrior, that one is!"
"Can't believe we really killed that thing!"
Suddenly everyone pulled back as the dragon seemed to ignite from within. Marcus stared in horrific fascination as flames erupted from all over its body, consuming without heat. He knew he should move, get out of the way, but he seemed rooted to the spot as some kind of energy hissed forth and streamed outward from the dragon, sinking into him, absorbing, filling, redefining. He felt the heat of the flames, but it didn't burn; it was warming and welcoming, as though he had come home. Something in him awakened in response to the energy that streamed for, and he felt a sudden comprehension that hadn't been there before.
Dovahkiin. Dragonborn.
Marcus wasn't sure if he thought the words, or if they came from the dying dragon, but suddenly he knew so much more than he did a few short moments ago: the dragon's name was Mir Mul Nir, which meant literally 'Allegiance Strong Hunt', but loosely translated to 'Faithful Strong Warrior'. He had come out of hiding when Alduin had returned, to serve his Thuri, or Lord, once more. And the word he had read the previous day on the curved wall in Bleak Falls Barrow, fus, meant 'force'. He knew now how to make it do what the draugr had done to him, and he raised his head to the night skies, blazing with auroras, with the two full moons casting their glow over the land.
"FUS!" he Shouted.
Welcome home, Dragonborn, said a voice inside him that he knew didn't come from his own mind. Coming back to himself, he looked around at the people surrounding him. The guards stood in awe, until one stepped forward.
"I can't believe it!" the man exclaimed. "You are Dragonborn!"
Something deep inside Marcus acknowledged the truth of this simple statement, even as his conscious mind still grappled with what had just happened.
"Dragonborn?" he muttered, shaking his head slightly. "I don't know what you mean."
"Well," the man said, reasoning it out, "you can Shout now. You couldn't do that before, could you?"
Still confused, Marcus merely mumbled. "I don't know what happened to me just now."
One of the other guards stepped forward. "That's right!" he exclaimed, excited. "My grandfather used to tell stories about the Dragonborn. Those born with the Dragon Blood in 'em. Like old Tiber Septim himself."
Another guard scoffed. "I never heard of Tiber Septim killing any dragons."
The first guard turned to his companion. "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!"
"What do you say Irileth?" asked the second one. "You're being awfully quiet."
The doubting guard appeared to look to the Housecarl for support. "Come on, Irileth, tell us, do you believe in this Dragonborn business?"
Irileth snorted, almost in contempt. "Hmph. Some of you would be better off keeping quiet than flapping your gums on matters you don't know anything about," she said disparagingly. "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."
For some reason, this seemed to offend the first guard. "You wouldn't understand, Housecarl. You ain't a Nord."
Stung, Irileth lashed out. "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."
Unshaken in his conviction, the first guard turned back to Marcus. "That was Shouting, what you just did!" he said confidently. "Must be. You really are Dragonborn, then..."
Throughout the entire exchange, Tamsyn had said nothing, but looked at him with a mixture of pride and sadness.
"What happens now?" he asked her quietly.
"You should report back to Jarl Balgruuf," Irileth answered before Tamsyn could speak. "He'll want to know what's happened here."
Marcus nodded and gestured to Tamsyn to go on ahead of him. She stopped at the dragon's skeleton and loosened a few smaller bones and scales that had not been consumed when the carcass had ignited.
"What are you going to do with those?" he asked.
"Well, since you don't own a place to store things, you can sell them," she said. "You'll need the cash, anyway. Someday, though, you might want to consider making armor from them."
"You can do that?" he asked as they walked along.
She shook her head in amusement. "Well, I can't, but someday you might."
"Dragonscale armor," he mused. "I like the sound of that. Maybe I'd better hang onto them, then."
"They're heavy," she warned. "Even the scales. You'd need a place of your own to store them until you collect enough, and become a skilled enough smith to craft with them."
"Didn't the Jarl say we could buy property?" he remembered.
"Yes, and I'll show you the place he's got available when we get back," she chuckled. There was a tone in her voice that made him certain once more that she knew more than she was telling him.
"You knew that dragon would attack, didn't you?" he guessed. She merely nodded. "Why didn't you say anything, then?"
"To you, or to them?" she asked, stopping. She looked up at him in the moons' light. It unnerved him slightly to see two moons in the sky, but he pushed it to the back of his mind as he focused on her words. "Marcus, I told you, I've played hundreds of hours of the game. I've beaten it several times. I might not remember every little detail, but I know enough to anticipate what may come next. But this is a real world, here, not a scripted game. I can't predict what people will say or do. They have free will, after all."
"I think I understand," he said slowly. "You might know what could happen, but if you tell me, I might do something different to fuck it up, and then we won't know what will happen."
She gave a relieved smile. "Yes! That's it exactly."
He digested this information before speaking again. "So, I take it this isn't the end of the game?"
"No," she admitted. "You've barely begun. Remember what I said earlier about the destiny of the Dragonborn? The moment you told me you heard chanting at the Word Wall in Bleak Falls Barrow, chanting that I couldn't hear, I knew you were the Dragonborn."
"And I'm the one that has to kill that huge black dragon, Alduin," he nodded. "Tamsyn," he pleaded now, "I don't think I can. I'm not ready for that fight! I'm not strong enough, I'm not a good enough fighter, and I don't have equipment that will stand up to dragon fire. That potion of yours helped, but I still got scorched."
"Of course you're not ready!" she exclaimed. "You'll need to train yourself up. It's known as 'grinding' in gamer's lingo. And I'm sorry about the burns. You were acting like it didn't bother you."
"I was in the heat of the moment," he smirked wryly, and she chuckled, handing him a couple of potions. Quaffing them took all the sting and hurt away, and he felt a little better about facing this new future of his. "Thanks. Shall we go tell Jarl Balgruuf what happened? It's the least we can do, and then we can be on our way."
He caught a shadow of another of those queer looks of hers, but it passed quickly and she picked up her pack, heading back to Whiterun. He followed behind, hoping the sinking feeling in his gut wasn't related to the look she'd given him. He understood now why she wouldn't tell him all she knew, but it still rankled. She should trust me, he stewed.
Unbidden, an errant thought crossed his mind. You haven't exactly given her reason to, it said. He was starting to get a little annoyed at that unidentified voice; all the more so because he knew it was right. Shrugging it off, he focused on getting back to Whiterun as quickly as possible.
They got as far as the stables when a thundering voice split the air, making the ground quake under their feet.
"DOVAHKIIN!"
The horses whinnied and snorted, rolling their eyes and prancing in place. Even the carriage driver waiting nearby had a hard time keeping his horse from bolting.
"What the fuck was that?" Marcus gasped, his heart pounding. The dragon had used that word too. Who else spoke the language of the dragons?
"The Greybeards," Tamsyn said. "They're summoning the Dovahkiin, the Dragonborn, to High Hrothgar. It's too dark now, or I'd point it out on the side of the mountain there."
" Mir Mul Nir, the dragon, called me that when he died," Marcus told her. "Who are the Greybeards?"
Again, Tamsyn gave him that sidelong look. "You'll find out very shortly. We should report to the Jarl. Everyone heard that, and tongues will be wagging now."
They hurried through the streets of Whiterun and Tamsyn quickly pointed out a house situated next to the smithy. "That's Breezehome," she said, smirking. "It's practically the first home you can buy in the game, and it's likely the one Jarl Balgruuf has available for sale now."
"It's a dump!" he snorted derisively.
"Maybe," she conceded as they hurried along. "But if you do buy it, it's your dump, and you'll have space to store the things you want to keep. You can fix it up; it could be a nice base of operations for you."
"What about Jorrvaskr?" he asked as they passed it. "I thought I might join the Companions and live there."
"You could do that," she agreed, "but there's not much privacy, and the whelps' quarters are rather small. Everybody sleeps in one room, except the Harbinger, Kodlak Whitemane, and those in the Circle, like Aela and Farkas. There's really no place to keep personal belongings there, either."
That didn't sound very reassuring. He wanted to ask her more about Breezehome, but they were at Dragonsreach by this time, and private conversation was no longer possible.
"Go on ahead," Tamsyn told him. "I'll catch up."
Marcus shrugged and went to speak to the Jarl. He never noticed the private conversation Tamsyn held with a beautiful, young, dark-haired Nord waiting in the shadows.
"You're Lydia, aren't you?" the red-haired mage clarified, coming up to her.
"Why—yes, I am," the young warrior woman admitted. "How did you know?"
"Jarl Balgruuf is going to make Marcus Thane of Whiterun," Tamsyn said, though it was more of a statement than a question.
"That's privileged information," Lydia said stiffly. "I shouldn't be discussing that with you."
"Nevertheless," the Breton girl chuckled, "Marcus will be made Thane, and the Jarl has already assigned you to be his Housecarl."
Lydia gasped and stared at the other girl. "How can you possibly know these things?" she wondered.
Tamsyn shrugged. "I'm Tamsyn, Lydia, and I'm something of a Seer," she replied. She hesitated for a moment, then plunged ahead. "Take good care of him, will you? I mean, I know you've vowed to protect him with your life, but he's really inexperienced. He's going to need all the help he can get."
"But you'll be with him, too," Lydia said. "Won't you? I thought the two of you were—" She left the statement unfinished with an upraised eyebrow, and Tamsyn chuckled wryly.
"No, we're not in a relationship," she said firmly. "We were just traveling together for a time." She hesitated and seemed to consider her words before she continued. "He's Dragonborn, you know."
"I know," Lydia said softly, eyes shining with pride. "Word has raced ahead of you, and we all heard the Greybeards' call."
"Half of Skyrim heard it," Tamsyn chuckled, then sobered. "Watch over him, Lydia," she repeated. "I can't stay with him, holding his hand and telling him what to do. That won't help him. He needs to learn to adapt in a way that will give him the confidence he needs to move forward. If I stayed…well, I'm no warrior. I'm barely a mage at this point. If I'm to help him, I need to get stronger, too. Give him this from me." She handed Lydia a rather hefty pouchful of gold. "It's most of the gold and gems we collected on the way here. If he does a few bounty jobs and he's careful with his money, he should have enough to buy Breezehome in a couple of weeks or so, and get it properly furnished."
"But some of this is rightfully yours!" Lydia protested, accepting it reluctantly. "Where will you go? Won't you need it?"
Tamsyn shook her head. "I'm going to Winterhold," she told the Nord woman, "to the College there. I'm going to study magic. I won't need all that gold, just enough to get myself there and buy my way in." She took one final look down to the end of the hall, where Marcus was accepting the Axe of Whiterun, a large, double-bladed battleaxe that she could tell from here had a stamina drain enchantment on it. Well, that should make him very happy.
"Please don't tell him where I've gone," she begged the Nord woman. "He has to learn to be the Dragonborn on his own. Good-bye and good luck, Lydia," she smiled warmly. "Be safe." Tamsyn turned and left Dragonsreach for good.
"Good-bye, Tamsyn," Lydia said softly, still confused, then turned back to wait for her new Thane.
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