Chapter 5: Welcome to Whiterun
The road to Whiterun was an uneasy one, having ups and downs as it led to the incline to the lower terrain. Killing some wolves to come at him but little else to be concerned with. Giving him a gander of the keep and the city to surround it behind the erected stone walls in the distance as Daemon rested beside a tall and ugly tree. He could also see a giant near one of the local farms. There was a dispute between two Alik'r warriors and a woman who like them was a Redguard to disturb the beauty and serenity of the landscape that his eyes beheld, but he paid it little heed.
Despite sensing the insisting bloodlust of Stormbringer, which was calling for bloodletting.
Apparently they were under the impression the woman was someone else, however the Imperial did not register any of the details. He merely continued strutting along the road. Seeing no reason for it to concern himself. Passing three legionnaires as he was traversing the path down the higher point of the road which led to the city.
Hearing the battle cry of a man as he neared closer proximity to the city.
Coming upon the site of a battle. A battle involving the same giant Daemon had seen from his spot by the tree, with the combatants doing well. They were near the farm to bear the name Pelagia.
The cadre to battle the giant was composed of two women and a man. The plainly cute of the women was armed with a steel sword which seemed off compared to most other steel swords while the beautifully enticing one with shoulder length light brown hair and green warpaint of her face was pulling back on her bow. The one man among them was dressed in steel breastplate armor which covered the top of the shoulders but left the arms exposed and bore a steel greatsword which much like the cute one's smaller sword seemed dissimilar to most of its breed.
Daemon wasn't sure why the weapons deviated from most steel weapons, there was just something about them which did not seem a one-for-one match. It was difficult for the renegade imperial to not notice.
He could have joined in, but Daemon could see no point as the trinity of warriors seemed to have the situation more than handled. Instead he watched as if he was a spectator to an arena fight.
The brown haired one with the greatsword seemed to recognize that their tactics were ill-effort he climbed the house intending to right himself and the strategy whilst the tantalizing archer continued to fling a barrage of her arrows while the more petite one with the single-hand blade slashed at the giant's soleus. As his allies were giving him more time, the man with the greatsword at last launched himself from the roof to propel himself toward the humanoid behemoth and plunge the blade into his big gaming quarry's chest. Felling the gigantor on its back, retracting his giant blade and helping the cute one with stabbing it in the head as the archer looked on.
Once they were convinced it was no more, the man climbed off the dead beast's carcass wiping the blood off the blade.
"Well that's taken care of." the war painted woman said, putting an arrow she was prepared to use before the greatsword's point found its way into the juggernaut into the quiver on the back of her belt before she noticed Daemon watching with one an rested on a fence post which was acting as a demarcation point for the destroyed part of that fence. Greeting the sight of him with a scowl and the words "No thanks to you."
I've heard worse.
Daemon merely shrugged in reply to the accusation of cowardice in her voice, paying little heed to what she was insinuatin. She may have been beautiful, but he would not allow her to get the better of him. She would need to try harder. "You seem to have a handle on the situation, so I didn't feel any urgency."
"Certainly not. But a true warrior would have relished the opportunity to take a giant. That's why I'm here with my shield-brothers."
"Your what, now?"
"An outsider, eh? Never heard of the Companions?"
The gray of Daemon's eyes darted for the top of the white circle as he ponderously considered the name. "Sounds familiar…I just can't remember where I heard the name."
"We're an order of warriors. We are brothers and sisters in honor." the woman told him. "And we show up to solve problems if the coin is good enough."
Sounds like a mercenary company.
"Could someone like me join?" Daemon asked. "I like knowing my options."
"Not for me to say." she said. "You'll have to speak with Kodlak Whitemane up in Jorrvaskr."
"Spectacular." Daemon muttered sarcastically.
"The old man's got a good sense for people. He can look into your eyes and tell your worth."
Well that…concerning.
Her description of this Kodlak was not instilling Daemon with confidence. Reminding him of his father in a few respects. And not in a flattering manner.
"If you go to him, good luck." was her parting words before she departed.
Her companions were a little more friendly. The cute one wishing him well as she followed after the archer, and the one with the greatsword merely nodded before he departed.
Daemon watched them walk away, seeing them vanish into the distance.
It was an interesting proposition. He was intending to make a base of operations in Skyrim now that he could never return to Cyrodiil, and he would require funds to do so. So the "Companions" would be ideal means of reaching that point eventually. But what would his membership in their ranks entail? Scarcely are things so simple, and he doubted it would come without some price. He would ponder on if, but only after his meeting with the Jarl. Once his promise to the beautiful Gerdur was met he was free to do as he pleased.
He continued walking.
Reaching the gates of the city where two guards were standing at attention on both sides of the gates with their lance-capable spears. Once the Imperial passed the crossbridge they were waiting for him; meeting the gaze of their eyes hiding within their helmets, stalling entrance once the trio from the Companions were permitted to go through.
"Hold, Imperial. The city's on high alert with the dragon sighting."
"That's why I'm here, sister fucker." Daemon responded. "Riverwood is calling on the Jarl for help."
The first half of his sentence nearly earned Actorius a new foe-man. Nearly getting himself brained by a closed first or the blunt end of the spear if the guard's own companion had not managed to talk him down.
"Are you telling the truth?" the reasonable asked.
Daemon nodded his head asking "Why would I lie about this? What would I gain?"
The reasonable one nodded with a sigh before rapping on the large oak door to the city with his spear. "Open 'er up." Before facing Daemon again. "Go before I change my mind and allow my friend, here, to rectify your insult to his honor."
It seemed the fatherland proverb about a man's tongue had some merit after all.
"Yeah, yeah." was all the Imperial said before he entered and the gate closed behind him. Watching the guards on this new side of the gate lock it shut with an oversized wooden bolt which they shoved into place—as if that had the chance of a champion in the worst sphere of Oblivion of keeping the dragons outside of the city. Before looking forward again to see a woman with long dark brown and a black apron on the front who looked as if she knew were her way around the anvil more than most men (giving Daemon the impression there was a more athletic body beneath her clothes) conversing with another blond haired Nord who was showing the beginnings of greying.
"We'll pay whatever it takes." the Nord man said. "But we must have more swords for the Imperial Legion."
Great. Imperial supporters.
"I just can't fill an order that size on my own." was the woman's response. "Why don't you swallow that damn pride of yours and ask Eorlund Grey-Mane for help?"
"Ha!" the Nord harrumphed. "I'd sooner bend the knee to Ulfric Stormcloak, himself. Besides, Grey-Mane would never make steel for the Legion."
The woman sighed exasperated. "Have it your way. I'll take the job, but don't expect a miracle."
Daemon continued to step forward, causing the Nord man to notice him.
"Grey-Mane or Battle-Born?" was all the Nord asked him.
"Idolaf…" the woman sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.
Idolaf's gruff face was cocked with his head toward her unfazed then back to Daemon. "You got stones in your ears? I asked who's side are you on?"
Daemon looked to the woman and asked with a finger pointed at Idolaf "Is he touched by Sheogorath or something?"
"So you are new to the city."
"Oh, no." Daemon said sardonically. I'm your old buddy you used to go drinking with before my family relocated and you just don't recognize me. Of course I'm new, ya goat humper!"
Idolaf groaned. Deciding it wasn't worth starting a fight before explaining "Whiterun's got two clans, both of them old and both of them respected. The difference is the Grey-Manes turned their backs on the Empire and we Battle-Borns stayed loyal." Then returned to his first question. 'So I'll ask you again: Grey-Mane or Battle-Born?"
"My side." was Daemon's answer.
The smith woman seemed to find some amusement in Daemon's answer. Idolaf's head gestured in a manner that said you're a fool. "Sooner or later we've all gotta pick a side." Before waving a farewell to the woman and walking off.
"Excuse my friend." the woman told him once they were alone. "He's a good man, politics just brings out the worst in people."
"If you say so," he responded before extending his gloved hand. "Name's Daemon by the way."
Her firm and calloused hand answered his gesture to shake with him. "Adrianne Avenicci." All with a smile. She was a bit like Gerdur, in a manner of speaking—with a more down and dirty, not too concerned with looking pretty mentality—, only she was a fellow member of the Imperial race.
"Welcome to Whiterun, Daemon." she said.
Daemon noticed the building to the right of where he had entered with the sin naming it WARMAIDEN'S. There was an anvil, smelter, tannin rack, forge, workbench, and grindstone—everything any smith worth their salt would require for their smith station—near that building. He pointed to the building to ask "This your's?"
"In a sense." Adrianne told him. "I man the smith station, forge the goods, and my husband sells them inside."
It was impressive for an Imperial to be able to do well for themselves in that way. From what Daemon had been told Nords could be stubborn with their adherence to their old traditions, this leading to some hostilities directed toward outsiders and even establishments within its borders for some generations such as the mage college in Winterhold, and thus has ensured life to be difficult for those such as Imperial to come calling or even the Orsimer who keep to themselves in Largashbur or the other strongholds which they held within the province at multiple opportunities.
"Though I suspect that is not why you're here." she guessed correctly.
"Right." Daemon sighed, forcing himself to remain focused. Before stepping off. "I'll chat with you later."
Making his way to the market where a cadre of stalls were to be found, he at last beheld the keep of the Jarl's more closely. Marveling at the sight of it. Many stories were ofttimes told of the Jarl's keep, reaching the ears of those as far as the Imperial heartlands who were interested by tales of intrigue. The keep of this hold, Dragonsreach, was greatly known for hosting Olaf One-Eyes' slaying of the dragon Numinex.
Stepping toward it, he came upon a large tree surrounded by a circular stream where a young girl was sitting on a bench holding a small collection of septims in her hand. She was a beggar named Lucia—an orphan who had been evicted from her home by a repugnant aunt and uncle after her mother's death. Daemon pitied her in his own way. Reminded melancholically of his childhood friend Voragiel who had been orphaned by a bandit's dagger and died in a tavern not long before the Imperial had journeyed to Skyrim. Tossing her a few more septims to go with the ones she already had in hand, which landed in her lap, much to the child's gratitude.
Hearing the ravings of a Talos worshiper as he ascended the steps up to Dragnsreach before stepping inside to be met by the brief and cold gaze of more guards standing at their posts with sheaths blades as he pressed forward without a word.
The Great Hall of Dragonsreach was massive, as to be expected of any keep where a royal court is held. With a fire pit at the center. Two balconies overhead on the left and right of the hall, a long table on both sides of the burning flames, and a throne at the far side of the chamber where a blond haired and bearded man (who Daemon assumed was who he was seeking) with a circlet on his head was conversing.
Daemon approached lightly. Swaggering forth. As he was passing the firepit, a Dunmer woman with a tough look to her who stood at the Jarl's side noticed him and approached drawing her steel sword. But the imperial did not reach for Stormbringer, allowing her to press the point of her blade against his chest. She wasn't aiming to kill him, it was a gesture of power on her part and naught more.
"What's the meaning of this?" she demanded to know. "Jarl Balgruuf is not receiving visitors."
Introducing herself as the Jarl's Housecar,l Irileth, much to Daemon's astonishment. Finding it difficult to believe that a Nord would do such a thing.
"I was asked to deliver a message from Riverwood." Daemon told her calmly. "Gerdur requested that I come and request aid from the Jarl. Another dragon was sighted near the village. It was different from the first one."
"First one?"
"Yes, the one that visited Helgen."
"You were at Helgen?"
Daemon nodded, with some reluctance. He was not sure how they would respond if it became necessary to proffer the full context.
The Dunmer sheathed her blade. "Then I would suggest speaking with the Jarl. He has been anxious to know what happened." Motioning her head toward the jarl's throne, gestring in a manner which told him just go already.
The eluctant messenger boy did so. Stepping just close enough to avoid inviting perceived threat from guards or the Dunmer woman.
He hadn't lasted to that point to be killed over yet another misunderstanding.
"What is your business here, stranger." the Jarl asked, friendly enough in his tone. Giving Daemon the impression he could be a reasonable enough fellow.
"I've come on behalf of Gerdur in Riverwood to deliver a message."
"Gerdur?" Balgruuf said in repetition. Sounding as though he was familiar with the mill owner in a friendly sense. "Has something happened?"
"Yes, the dragon to destroy Helgen passed over Riverwood shortly afterwards. And two days or so another was seen near the village."
"And how would you know that a dragon was responsible for Helgen?"
"I…" Daemon was preparing to make some excuse—either that he had witnessed the dragon flying away from Helgen and then he came upon the charred wrechage of what had previously been the medium-sized community or that he had been passin through at the time of its destruction—when his eyes met Balruuf's and found himself struggling to do so. So he was out with the truth. "I was there when it happened. I had a pretty good look at it as the 'brave' legion was preparing to behead me."
A few in the Great Hall looked as though they wanted to arrest him on the spot. He could see the assumptions in their eyes. As though they had decided he was some criminal on the spot. Irileth was more restrained than the rest.
He was ready to reach for the hilt of Stormbringer when Balgruuf raised his hand, staying the actions of others. Sparing them of a blood end at the black blade's edge. Once everyone was calmed, the Jarl said "You're fairly blunt with your criminal past…"
"I was not a criminal." Daemon corrected him. Inviting ire from Irielth that time. He did not care. He inherited a great deal from his grandfather, Crassus. Chief among them was impudence when dealing with those who annoy him. "I was merely in the wrong place at the wrong time and those fools did not care enough to ensure I was who they believed me to be."
"Oh?"
"Yes." Daemon told him, trying to not sound too indignatous or allowing his anger to get the better of him—at least in this case, as it would cause problems for him and not help Riverwood (and more importantly, Gerdur). "I was arrested by accident, but that's not the point. After the dragon destroyed it passed by the village and then two days ago another was spotted near Riverwood."
"Why did you wait until now to come forward?"
"I was…uh, preoccupied while laying low. Regardless of the circumstance I suppose I could still be considered a criminal. There was no one else in the villae who could leave to bring you this message, and none of the travelers could see fit to do so. The only reason I bothered coming at all was because Gerdur asked me to."
That seemed to garner sympathy from Balgruuf. His expression softened.
It was not technically a lie, so he doubted it would raise any suspension. He had in fact been keeping a low presence in Riverwood so it was not far off from what was telling them. He was just neglecting to mention the distraction of Gerdur and Sigrid allocating his focus.
Daemon continued. "By the way, the dragon that laid waste to Helgen, a big, black one; the last I saw of it the damn thing was flying in this direction. I'm assuming it hasn't done anythin similar?"
"We've seen no such activities, as of yet." the steward who had been conversing with Balgruuf when he had entered.
"Well that's something." Daemon sighed with a shrug of his shoulder. "Whatever you do with the information I've brought to you is your business." Then begins steppin backward.
"Hold a moment." Jarl Balgruuf said.
Daemon complied and halted. Watching the Jarl get into a discussion with the steward over the matter with input from the Dunmer Housecarl. Balgruuf would send troops to Riverwood at the Dunmer's suggestion. The Steward, Proventus, protested that one of Balgruuf's Jarl peers would perceive this as a sign they were aligning themselves with Ulfric and thereore provaction for hostility and them to be spoiling for a fight. Balgruuf would not relent. Telling his advisor that he would not stand idle as a dragon torched his hold and slaughtered his subjects.
He was if anythig responisble. Daemon liked it. This Balgruuf was everything his father pretended he was.
Once that was concluded he returned his focus to Daemon. "Well done…" Gesturing his finges toward him in a let's hear your name way.
"Daemon," he introduced with a brief bow of his head. "Daemon Actorius."
"Actorius…?" Irileth repeated.
The Jarl and his Housecarl's eyes widened with recognition.
"Are you Kaeso or Regulus' boy?" Balgruuf asked curiously.
Daemon answered guiltily "Kaeso, unfortunately. Uncle Regie doesn't have any sons, just a daughter. As far as I remember."
"Strange." Balgruuf said. "You act nothing alike to him."
Daemon smirks, pleased with that admission from the Jarl, pointing a finger directionlessly. "I take that as a compliment. To be honest, I'd rather resemble my grandsire than that pompous bastard." Before realize he had forgotten himself. "Respectfully, my Jarl."
"Well, Daemon." Balgruuf resumed what he had intended to say. "Well done, indeed. You've done more than most would have in your position."
"Thank you."
"What will you do now?"
"Haven't decided yet."
"Would you be willing to accept a small piece of work? My court wizard Farengar has been working on this dragon predicament."
Daemon nodded. Balgruuf was pleased.
He was then escorted to a room which was to the side of the Great Hall, opposite of the entryway to the scullery, to meet with a man with hooded and shoddy robes.
"Farengar." the guard who was escorting Daemon said. "The Jarl found you a helper."
"Fantastic. Fantastic." the Court Wizard said. Grabbing Daemon's hand to shake it. "I trust the Jarl has explained what it is I require?"
"Said you were doing something dragon related." Daemon answered curtly. "He was a tad…vague on the delineation after that."
"It's quite simple." Farengar elucidated. Stepping over to a map on the nearby wall and pointing to a location south of Whiterun between the lands where Jarl Balgruuf the Great and Jarl Siddgeir's territory were close to meeting. "There's Nordic ruin in these hills, here. I wish for you to scour these ruins for a stone table."
"Stone tablet?"
That sounds familiar…it can't be…
"Yes. The stories of old refer to it as the Dragon Stone."
"One second." Daemon pulled off his pack to reach in and pull out the ugly writings on the stone he had found in Bleak Falls Barrow. "This the thing?"
"Y-Yes." the Secret-Fire Court Wizard said in another expression of happiness. "How did you…?"
"I was asked to go to the Barrow shortly before I paid this city a visit." Daemon explained. "Whilst I was exploring the ruins I came across this tablet by chance. I held onto it hoping it could be useful."
"Very good, then." Farengar said. "You seem to be of a different cut cloth than the sort the Jarl foists me with. More compitent."
"Thanks…I think. Hopefully thse clod-humpers out there don't hear you."
Farengar scoffed. "Oh, pay such concerns no heed. I've said far worse."
"Still—"
Irileth suddenly burst into the Court Wizard's quarter.
"Wizard, we have trouble!"
"What is it, Irileth?"
"A dragon was spotted near the western watchtower." the Dunmer woman told him. "The Jarl is requestin you in the war room."
What!?
She then looked toward Daemon. "You as well, Imperial."
"But—" Daemon attempted to protest, not exactly eager at the thought of being involved in yet another dragon situation, but she was having none of it. "No buts about it. To the war room. Now!"
Once she disappeared, Daemon looked to Farengar and pointed to where the absent Dunmer Housecarl had been standing and asked the wizard "Does she always have a log that far up her ass?"
"I would have a care if I were you, Imperial." Farengar told him. "Unless, of course, you were desiring to have a few broken ribs."
As they stepped forward to leave the court wizrd's quarters, Daemon told him "I'll take that under advisement."
From there he followed the Wizrd up some stairs to the right of the Jarl's throne to find Jarl Balgruuf the Greater gathered around a larger than average table with a map of his home province with Proventus and Irileth at his side. Formulating their battle plan for the situation before them—possible battle lines and positions to prepare once they had everything they needed—as a guard for the Hold was brought to them.
The guard arrived directly from the western watchtower.
The Jarl beckoned the guard over to the war table. "So, Irileth tells me you came from the western watchtower?"
The guard nodded his helmet-covered head. "Yes, my lord." Still appearing sheepish, looking as though he was expecting something to happen at any moment, as if the beast he escaped from was bound to tear through the roof of the keep as the black one had done in Helgen.
Irileth was quick to command his attention back to the present. "Tell him what you told me. About the dragon."
Again his helmet nodded. "Uh... that's right. We saw it coming from the south. It was fast... faster than anything I've ever seen."
"What did it do? Is it attacking the watchtower?" Balgruuf the Greater inquired.
"No, my lord. It was just circling overhead when I left. I never ran so fast in my life... I thought it would come after me for sure."
Balgruuf seemed satisfied with the report. "Good work, son. We'll take it from here. Head down to the barracks for some food and rest. You've earned it." Turning his attention to his Housecral. "Irileth, you'd better gather some guardsmen and get down there."
The Dunmer nodded "I've already ordered my men to muster near the main gate."
"Well, you seem to have everything under control here, Jarl." Daemon said, stating the obvious. "I think I'll show myself out now."
Balgruuf stopped him with a simple "I'm afraid I may require more aid from you, friend." Earning a groan from. "I would be grateful if you would accompany Irileth and her men to the watchtower. I can understand that after Helgen you may be somewhat remiss to be involved with such a task. But I would prefer one with some experience with handling this."
"And I would have preferred not being falsely accused of treason and being able to return to my homeland and wife, but we don't always get what we want, my Jarl…respectfully."
Irileth looked like she was ready to punch him across the face for his impudence, but Daemon could not bother to be concerned. She could beat him bloody and purple until he passed out, he felt no incentive to help people he did not know in regard to contending with a dragon, for a second occasion. A mere week-and-a-half had passed (more or less) and it was not long enough of a duration for Daemon's liking to separate the present from the day he nearly lost his head. So she could beat him, they could torture him, and Daemon would still be unwilling to do so.
"You have an obligation to help us." Proventus told him. Hoping to appeal to his slain sense of honor or loyalty to the status quo to no avail.
"Obligation?" Daemon asked with a smirking scoff. Almost impressed by the steward's audacity. "I was asked by Gerdur to deliver a message, I have done so. My obligation ceased there." Telling Proventus "So, dear boot licker, kindly kiss my ass."
He turned to leave.
"Are you truly so cold hearted, imperial?" Balgruuf asked him. "Willing to leave the soldiers guarding the watchtower at the mercy of a dragon? To be toyed with?" Causing Daemon to once again stop in his tracks. "I can understand if you hate the Legion, but my people at the watchtower have done you no wrong. None of them were involved in your attempted execution."
This earned a groan of exacerbated displeasure from the spellsword of Kvatch.
The Jarl had a point, as much as it pained Daemon to admit. The guard of the hold had not wroned him. And even if they were involved with Helgen he likely could have been reasoned into helping—after all they were merely following orders. He had spent enough time in a City Watch to know there is little one can do in that situation. You can only follow orders handed down to you or face your own consequences. So the guards stationed at the western watchtower were not someone he should be willing to leave for dead so readily.
However, on the other hand, this meant he would be shepherding himself into a situation where another dragon would have the chance to gulp him up or roast him as if he was a skeever and then eat him up. And that was not something he was exactly giddy at the prospect of.
It was the equivalent of walking up to Tulius a second time and throwing himself at the general's mercy. The only deviation from this scenario and the dragon is that the behemoth would not hesitate to end him.
But to stand by and do nothing…would that not make him any better than that Hadvar fellow?
What to do, what to do…
"How many have you got?"
"Pardon?"
"How many men would I be accompanying to thise watchtower? Hypothetically speaking."
"As many as we can afford to dispatch." Irileth told him.
Daemon looked at her annoyed. "That doesn't answer my question."
Irileth again wanted to strike him. The only thing holding her back was the look he was receiving from the Jarl. Begrudgingly answering "Fifteen men."
At that, Daemon's head eased to one side and then the other before it returned to tilting to that first side. "I suppose that could work…" Then again there were perhaps three times those numbers in Helgen and they were still reduced to charred meat.
Looking to the staircase the watchtower guard had descended moments ago before asking the Jarl "That survivor, you said he was headed for the barracks, yes?"
"That is correct."
"I'll help, but I have one question for that man before I tangle with another dragon."
Balgruuf the Greater seemed to find this acceptable. "Irileth get your men ready, once he asks his question, make for the watchtower."
"Yes, my Jarl."
The court wizard stepped forward excitidly. "I should come along. I would very much like to see this dragon."
But the Jarl protested. "No. I can't afford to risk both of you. I need you here working on ways to defend the city against these dragons."
"As you command." Farengar relented, somewhat disappointedly; resembling a child told he couldn't have a new toy.
Balgruuf then looked back to the housecarl. "One last thing, Irileth. This isn't a death or glory mission. I need to know what we're dealing with."
Irileth retorted respectfully "Don't worry, my lord. I'm the very soul of caution."
The Dunmer Housecarl did just that. Leading Daemon out of the keep and down the stairs before heading through the city and toward the guard barracks building beside the city's gates. Rallying the men together with "Here's the situation. A dragon is attacking the Western Watchtower." and talking them down from being scared away from following their duty—and succeeding—whilst the Imperial showed himself into the barracks to search for the right one—which was thankfully not too difficult as he was the only one still inside and helping himself to some much needed food. His helmet at last off, exposing his nordic features.
"You."
"Did you need something, Imperial?"
"The dragon who's at the watchtower." Daemon was straight to the point. "Did you get a good look at it before you ran here?"
"As best as I could manage, why?"
"Was it black?"
"...come again?"
"You know. Black, ebony. Also, did it possess a spiky appearance?"
"Uh…no. It actually looked dark reddish, I suppose."
"Oh." In that moment the Imperial felt as if he was a second from laughing. That was akin to a weight being lifted off Daemon's shoulders. "Good day, then." Before stepping back out to find Irileth had already concluded her conversation with the hold guards and was prepared to leave.
"Satisfied, Cyrod?"
"Resoundingly." Daemon smirked. Then extended his arm in the gesture of a gentleman leading a woman to a dance floor. "Shall we?" Irileth did not pretend to understand his meaning, although she suspected he was mocking her, nor what had improved his demeanor. She merely led her men out of the city with the spellsword in tow.
Leading along the path of the road in the opposite direction from the one which Daemon had traversed from Riverwood. Leading them to the watchtower and it was not a pretty sight. The nobleman could only imagine what it had looked like before—assuming it was similar to the one he had retreated inside for shelter back in Helgen—but it was half of what it used to be. Quite literally. With stone shards of its structure scattered around it.
"By the nine…" Daemon muttered.
Irileth joined in his disbelief. Before turning her attention to her men whilst Daemon proceeded to approach the stump of a tower.
"Hello!?" he yelled out. "Anyone still amongst the breathing?"
A figure emerged from inside the stump structure. Revealing itself to be another of the Whiterun guards.
"No! Get back! It's still here somewhere! Hroki and Tor just got grabbed when they tried to make a run for it!"
Irileth approached with her men. "Guardsman! What happened here? Where's this dragon? Quickly now!"
The guard answered curtly "I don't know!" before a disturbance in the distance caused him to look toward the mountains and mutter fearfully "Kynareth save us, here he comes again..." with a pointed finger.
Seeing the dragon, the Dunmer glanced over to her company of guards and barked at them "Find cover and make every arrow count!"
Drawing Stormbringer, Daemon ran for one of the broken pieces of the tower for cover as the guards pulled back on their bow strings.
It was as the monster descended onto the scene to rain fire down on them and engulf at least one of them in flames that Daemon could see it more clearly. The beast was how one would expect a dragon to be in appearance, unlike the hellish one he had seen in Helgen only sharing a similar height—relatively. Having long, slender extremities covered in scales, and large, thin, leathery wings; feet tipped with three sharp talons and one vestigial digit.
"Talos save us…" one muttered.
Irileth stated the obvious. "We need to hurt it, somehow! If you've got a bow or spells, now would be a good time to use them!"
Daemon was waiting. He fired a fireball once or twice. But he was mainly bidding for time until the dragon was on the ground and he could inflict some actual damage.
It was in this aforementioned bidding a laugh could be heard, echoing down on them from the skies. The voice of one who was amused beyond their wildest expectation before a voice followed it. "I had forgotten what fine sport you mortals can provide!" Sounding as though it was uttered with a wicked smile.
Daemon stopped in his tracks.
It talks…? Actually, that makes sense.
The dragon's words did not puzzle him so much as the fact he could comprehend them. Daemon had expected the words of a dovah to ones which he could understand with the clarity of the words of a Akavir, which was to say none at all. He recalled the black one rampaging through Helgen making sounds as well, typically before unleashing flames, but he had assumed it to be little more the gibberish or the tongue something which only one of their own was capable of comprehending. But it turned out he was terribly mistaken.
As he watched the dragon soared above, with Irileth and the small contingent of guards scrambling, fumbling, They were not doing as poorly as those in Helgen, thankfully. The dragon then was only interested in slaughtering as many people as possible—this one, however, was toying with them. Prodding them with aerial attacks to gague their capabilities, or so that was the best guess which Daemon could fathom.
Or it was just doing whatever it felt like on impulse as it took its time with them.
Regardless of the truth, Daemon could only move to avoid the attacks raining down on them. Maintain the focus on the gaze as he moved on instinct.
The black blade manifested no words as he did so. However, Daemon could feel its thoughts on the matter: it was as amused by the dragon's antics as it was insulted. Calling for the beast's slaying, clamoring for the Impeial to fell it by any means.
When the dragon seemed to at last be ready to take more direct action, it dropped down onto the ground with a thunder blast of its talons hitting the soil. Laughing as the arrows and blades of the nords collide with its scaly flesh as they hacked and hewed with very little avail, treating the attacks as if they were attacks from insects (and practically speaking they may as well have been)—that was not to say the attacks had no effect, but the pain's effect was lacking in regard to hindering the dragon's will to continue—before its gaze met Daemon's.
Facing down the yellow of the oversized Argonian's eyes, Daemon held up Stormbinger, twirling it once as he did so, bearing his fangs, and with the battle cry "Vae Victis!" he charged for the dragon.
The scaly monstrocity discharged fire toward him.
Daemon dodged. He evaded, manuvered to avoid joining the charred corpse guild. Bringing himself nearer and nearer to the dragon before plunging the point of Stormbringer into the behemoth's side. The beast screamed before swiping at Daemon with its talons.
Seeing the claws coming his way whilst pulling out the runesword, Daemon climbed atop the Dragon. Slashing at one wing, leaving it hanging by a tendon. Rushing up the dragon's scaled neck; slashing into the head before plunging his sword into its skull. Falling off the side onto the ground as the grounded beast shook its head and caused him to lose his footing.
The dragon laughed at first as the Imperial pulled himself up. Mocking Daemon's alleged inability to put it down when suddenly it halted in the words escaping from between its jagged teeth.
As if a revelation was crashing down on it within the mental palace of its brain.
"...D-Dovahkin…?" it muttered with horror creeping its way into prominence within the tone and pitch of the voice. "No!"
Fear was all one could hear in those final moments of the dragon. Existential dread of an end which the beast did not favor.
With the last death cry, the dragon's head crashed to the soil with life gone from its eye.
Daemon did not hesitate to retrieve Stormbringer, even as the flesh of the dragon began to combust with flaming bubbling amidst the gasping and whispering disbelief of the nords—not wishing to lose his new trusty weapon just yet—managing to retrieve his weapon before the fire reached its full pitch.
Suddenly, as the flames raged, consuming solely the flesh of the drake, he felt his body being penetrated by a gust of wind reminding him of his experience in the inner sanctum of the Barrow. Feeling as if the dragon's very soul was rushing into him and as the whirlwind of the soul's power surged into him, Daemon heard a name whispered to him. Mirmulnir.
Every part of his being felt as if it was on a fire similar to the dragon's corpse, as if the very essence of the Aedra used to create Mundus itself was channeling into him.
It was only a moment, but it felt as though an hour-long ordeal had transpired.
Once the process concluded and the dragon was reduced to bones, Daemon stood there. Sensing something crawling its way up his throat. Suddenly he looked out to the sky and opened his mouth as a powerful blast escaped from his lips as he uttered "Fus-Ro-Dah!"
"What in Oblivon…?" he whispered in disbelief.
He stood there in shock. Trying to make sense of what had just occurred. That…blast of whatever it was not something Daemon could recall ever had been able to do before. Even the words he uttered were not ones which he had ever said aloud in his life before that moment on that day.
He almost wondered if the benevolent Aedra and malignant Daedra were having a laugh with him. Or if he was dreaming. Then he poked his finger with Stormbringer's point to realize damn it, I'm awake.
A warrior of the hold approached him.
"I can't believe it…" he said, glancing back and forth between Daemon and the dragon bones before focusing his gaze at last onto the Cyrdiilite. "You're…Dragonborn…"
"Come again?" Daemon asked. "What's that?"
He was almost as perplexed by the term as he was by hearing the dragon speak. The only deviation was he did not need to be concerned with catching fire.
"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?"
Daemon shrugged. "Who can say for certain."
"Well you just used a dragon shout a moment ago." the warrior pointed out. "I'm assuming you could not do so before."
Daemon nodded flippantly in affirmation, sheathing Stormbringer.
"That is how the legends described that power," he told Daemon. "Near exactly."
Soon the other guards and Irileth joined their side, some basking in marvel and sense of security at the dragon bones. Knowing that they were in danger no more.
"Dragonborn? One asked. "What are you talking about?"
"That's right! 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!"
One of the soldiers tooked to their Dunmer leader to ask her "What do you say, Irileth? You're being awfully quiet." Another asked equally curious "Come on, Irileth, tell us, do you believe in this Dragonborn business?"
Irileth remained mum for a moment. "Hmph." Though obviously contemptible of what she was hearing. "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."
"You wouldn't understand, Housecarl. You ain't a Nord."
"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."
"Regardless, at least we have some good news."
One raised his blade. "Hail the Dragonborn!"
"May he deliver us from the Dragon scourge!" said another.
"Hail!" "Hail! "Hail!" "Hail!" "Hail! "Hail!" "Hail!" "Hail! "Hail!" "Hail!" "Hail! "Hail!" "Hail!" "Hail! "Hail!" "Hail!" "Hail! "Hail!" "Hail!" "Hail! "Hail!" "Hail!" "Hail! "Hail!" "Hail!" "Hail! "Hail!" "Hail!" "Hail! "Hail!" "Hail!" "Hail! "Hail!" "Hail!" "Hail! "Hail!" "Hail!" "Hail! "Hail!" "Hail!" "Hail! "Hail!" "Hail!" "Hail! "Hail!" "Hail!" "Hail! "Hail!" "Hail!" "Hail! "Hail!" "Hail!" "Hail! "Hail!" "Hail!" "Hail! "Hail!" "Hail!" "Hail! "Hail!"
With each 'Hail!' Daemon felt a headache spawning within.
He looked to Irileth, eager to distract himself. "So I suppose I should return to your Jarl?"
"It is pleasing to see you are not as moronic as I originally believed." Irileth said flatly. "Get going."
Daemon was tempted to punch her but reminded himself what would likely happen to him as a result: a severe beating of his own. So he merely stepped away as the chanting stopped abruptly as their eyes met Irileth's baleful scowl.
He heard her barking order at the soldiers and guards as he was walking away. Beginning his journey back toward the city.
Sashaying for the city when he suddenly heard a thunderous voice echo through the clouds. "Dovahkiin!" He stopped there in his tracks, his wide eyes gazing up to the clouds in utterless disbelief.
What in Oblivion?
It was that word again. The word that Mirmulnir just as life departed from his body and Daemon absorbed his soul. Which it had uttered in horror as if Daemon would know instinctively its meaning in the greatest of outlandishly possible presumptions.
He knew he was not touched by the mad one—he was fairly certain of that little fact, if not just a smidge. This was nothing like those encounters he knew of through his readings. He was as in touch with the reality of Mundus as he always had been. Fastened to it tightly with sanity as he always had been since the day of his birth.
No. This was as real as that dragon. Insping a urge to run within his heart and causing him to bolt for heart of the hold in that instant.
Reaching the gates with guards glaring up the sky as bewildered as he had been a moment ago. Murmmery frequent as he passed into the city. However, unlike himself they seemed to be excedingly knowing. More so that Daemon, though this was not stating too great of a fact. These whispers ceased once Daemon came closer to them, dying like a warrior felled by an arrow to the heart.
Rushing through the city's district, nearly knocking Adrianne off her feet when they bumped into each other, as he made for the Keep. Entering short of breath to find the Jarl speaking with Proventus and a man with a shoulder guard fashioned from animal parts.
Hearing them mention something involving a summons.
"So what happened at the watchtower? Was the dragon there?" being the words out of Balgruuf's maw.
"Thank you, Jarl, I'm happy to be alive as well." Daemon said facetiously. Seeing an aggravation brewing, he was quick to be out with it. "The watchtower was destroyed, but we managed to fell the dragon."
The news pleased him immensely, causing the jarl to reline back with a sigh. "I knew I could count on Irileth." before his eyes returned to him. "But there must be more to it than that."
"About that…" Daemon sighed, scratching the back of his head, severely reluctant to tell the whole truth. But deception did not seem too beneficial to him or his position at the moment. They knew he was nearly executed after all and could have chosen to carry out the execution themselves if he gave them ample cause to do so. "When the dragon died, this…power flowed into me from it and your men started calling me Dragonborn."
"Not just the men. The Greybeards seem to think the same thing."
"Who?" Daemon asked with a cocked brow.
"Masters of the Way of the Voice. They live in seclusion high on the slopes of the Throat of the World."
"What do you suppose they could want with me?"
"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."
Not helpful.
The third man chimed in. "Didn't you hear the thundering sound as you returned to Whiterun? 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!" Excitement getting the better of him.
Protentus interjected himself. "Hrongar, calm yourself. What does any of this Nord nonsense have to do with our friend here? Capable as he may be, I don't see any signs of him being this, what, "Dragonborn." Only for Hrongar looking at the advisor as if he was going to rip his head from his shoulder. "Nord nonsense?! Why you puffed-up ignorant... these are our sacred traditions that go back to the founding of the First Empire!"
The Jarl was quick to try and ease the tension of the scene. "Hrongar. Don't be so hard on Avenicci."
"I meant no disrespect, of course. It's just that... what do these Greybeards want with him? Aside from teaching him the Way of the Voice."
The Jarl reseated himself and rested his face on the knuckles of his fist. "That's the Greybeards' business, not ours." Glancing at Daemon. "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. 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."
"I'll consider it." Daemon replied. "I have some matters down here to contend with first."
"Regardless, 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."
"What?"
"I assign you Lydia as a personal Housecarl, and this weapon from my armory to serve as your badge of office. 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."
Leaving Daemon flabbergasted.