Chapter Twenty-One: Back to Business
In which magic cures all ills.
A tumble of nonsensical words rolled
through her mind, the loudest voices actually Shouting at her.
“Dovahkiin!” they
seemed to say.
She groaned,
opening eyes that refused to focus properly.
She tasted copper
in her mouth. Reaching up to feel her face, her hand came away wet.
She looked around to try and figure out where she'd ended up, but it
was impossibly dark.
She started to
panic.
Although
she had excellent night vision, it did her no good if there wasn't
any light. Trying to
keep calm, she felt around her. She was in a tight space. Wall, door
– there, cold porcelain. She identified it immediately as the
bathroom. She was sitting on the floor next to the toilet, which
explained the tight confines; her bathroom was ridiculously tiny.
Feeling up the wall, she found the light switch and flipped it on.
Relief flooded her,
even though her eyes complained at the sudden light and she had to
close them.
Now all she had to
do was clean up all the blood.
She
deliberately did not think about exactly what would cause that kind
of a reaction, because she had her suspicions and they were wrong.
She picked herself
up, unlocked the door, and, taking a deep breath to prepare herself,
opened it.
There was nothing
there.
She laughed a bit
at herself. She was being silly. Why would there be anything inside
her house?
She walked to her
bedroom, took her night meds, and crawled into bed. Nothing popped out at her, nothing was
there but her own foolish imagination.
For the first time
in months, she left the bedside lamp on when she went to sleep.
She was roused out
of a vague nightmare by another: everything was pain. She felt her
bones grinding against each other as they set themselves, and she
cried out in agony as the nerves protested their treatment.
A woman stood above
her, her hands glowing with white light. She wore brown robes with a
yellow hood, and she spoke soft, soothing, nonsense words.
The pain slowly
subsided as everything sank into its proper place. Mariah sagged with
relief.
“You're awake
then? Good. I was afraid … generally it's a bad idea to let someone
with a cracked skull sleep, but nothing could rouse you.” The woman
smiled. “You've had a lot of visitors. Mostly well-wishers, some of
the guards who were with you when you killed that dragon. The Jarl
himself even came down from Dragonsreach. You're a popular lady.”
She sat up slowly,
with a groan. “What time is it … ?”
“Morning. You're
hungry?”
Mariah nodded
slowly.
“We'll get you
something to eat.” Another smile. “Now, and this is important:
don't do anything too strenuous for the next couple of days. I had to
heal a lot of damage, and you're still on the mend.”
She rubbed the back
of her head. “Define 'strenuous,' please.” She doubted she'd get
a real chance to rest, after all. What had even happened to her
possessions?
“No fighting.
Period. No heavy lifting, no long journeys, no running, or jumping,
or … whatever it is you hero types do, don't do it. Understand me,
if you strain yourself too much, you won't heal properly. You're
fragile right now.”
She nodded.
“Understood. Can I at least make the trip up to Dragonsreach? If
the Jarl came to see me, I'm sure it's important.”
“If you think
you're up to it, I suppose. Just be careful. I don't want to see you
back here because you broke something again.”
A smile. “I'll do
my best. Now … what was this about food?”
She ate a hearty
meal of meat, bread, and cheese, put together in a configuration she
chose to call a “sandwich.” It was a medieval time period, so she
was fairly sure she got to “invent” certain modern ideas like
that.
“Thank you again.
Do I owe you anything?”
The woman shook her
head. “Your expenses were covered by the Jarl. He said that it was
the least he could do for a dragonslayer.”
“I – see. Well,
thank you anyway. I didn't expect to survive that fall.”
Another shake of
the head. “You wouldn't have, except that Irileth managed to get an
extremely powerful healing potion into you, and quickly.” The woman
smiled. “I just finished the job. If you thank anyone today, it
should be the housecarl.”
“I will, but you
have my thanks anyway. Where are my things, please?”
The
woman produced all of her gear, even the pieces Mariah hadn't noticed
were missing. She had
to get used to the idea of carrying a weapon with her everywhere.
She arranged her
things in their normal places. Everything felt heavier than it had
been before, but then, she was still worn out from the healing. If
she'd been as battered as she still felt, it was a miracle she was up
and walking. She remembered the first day after her surgery, and her
inability to move.
Magic beat modern
medicine, apparently.
Who knew?
The trip up to
Dragonsreach, though exhausting, was largely uneventful. She sagged
against the great doors of the place before she finally pushed them
open.
Spying the Jarl,
she noticed he had other people with him.
“Good,” the
fancy-robed man said. “You're finally here. The Jarl's been waiting
for you.”
The
Jarl had another visitor, a man in leather armor that looked like it
had been ripped off some ancient barbarian hero … wait, he probably
was an ancient
barbarian hero. He was big, muscular, and looked kind of mean.
“You heard the
summons,” the Jarl was saying as she approached his throne. “What
else could it mean? The Graybeards ….”
The barbarian
shrugged slightly, turning to look at her. “We were just talking
about you. My brother needs a word with you.”
“Aye-aye.” She
said it tiredly, with a faint smile.
The Jarl regarded
her calmly. “My guards have given their reports, but I'd like to
hear your tale, please. Leave nothing out. Any details you remember
might be important, if we should have to face another.”
She looked up at
the ceiling, for a moment, folding her hands behind her back.
“Yessir. The watchtower was destroyed; there was rubble everywhere,
and everything was burning. Only one guard had survived the dragon's
attack, and he was telling us to get away. The dragon swooped down –
Irileth did most of the fighting.” She ducked her head,
embarrassed. “I mostly just shot lightning at it.”
“I knew I could
count on Irileth. But my guards tell me that you had your moment,
no?”
She shook her head.
“I grabbed the dragon, when it was about to take off, and nearly
got killed for my efforts, sir. I guess I dealt the killing blow, but
really, I would have died on my own.”
He nodded. “And
then?”
“The
dragon – when it was dying, it … melted.
I remember that. And then … there was a white light, coming from
its corpse. I think – I think it was coming for me. I blacked out …
I don't remember, I'm sorry.”
The Jarl closed his
eyes, processing that. “So it's true – the Greybeards really were
summoning you.”
“The …
Greybeards, sir?”
He nodded once.
“Masters of the Way of the Voice. They live in seclusion high on
the slopes of the Throat of the World.” Oh goodie. She was going to
get to go mountain climbing.
“What
… I'm sorry, what would they want with me?”
The Jarl regarded
her oddly. “That light you saw … it was most likely the dragon's
very soul. You absorbed it into your body … I'd wager that power is
part of why you didn't die from your injuries. If that's true – if
you are Dragonborn, then you should be able to Shout, like the
dragons do. The Greybeards could teach you to use your gift, if you
let them.”
“Didn't you hear
that thundering sound as you returned to Whiterun?” The Jarl's
brother asked. “That was the voice of the Greybeards, summoning you
to High Hrothgar!”
She shook her head.
“I don't think I was conscious for that.”
But
she remembered. Dovahkiin, they'd
called her, in her dream. Dragonborn.
“This hasn't
happened in … centuries, at least. Not since Tiber Septim himself
was summoned while he was still Talos of Atmora!” Talos … one of
the Divines?
The fancy-pants man
folded his arms. “Hrongar, calm yourself. What does any of this
Nord nonsense have to do with our friend here?” He gestured to her.
“Capable as she may be, I don't see any signs of her being this,
what, 'Dragonborn.'”
“Nord nonsense?!
Why you puffed up, ignorant …” He sputtered for a moment. “These
are our sacred traditions that go back to the founding of the first
Empire!”
“Hrongar,” The
Jarl smiled, humor in his voice. “Don't be so hard on Avenicci.”
Fancy-pants –
Avenicci – shook his head. “I meant no disrespect, of course.
It's just that … what do these Greybeards want with her?”
She'd like to know
that, herself.
“That's the
Greybeards' business, not ours.” He looked away from his brother
and his advisor, staring straight at her. “Whatever happened when
you killed that dragon, it revealed something in you, and the
Greybeards heard it. If they think you are Dragonborn, who are we to
argue? You'd better get up to High Hrothgar immediately. There is no
refusing the summons of the Greybeards. It's a tremendous honor.”
She shifted a
little, uncertainly. “There might be a slight problem with the
'immediate' part of that. I'm not to do anything strenuous for the
next few days ….”
He waved his hand,
dismissively. “I envy you, you know. To climb the seven thousand
steps again... I made the pilgrimage once, did you know that? It's a
difficult journey … perhaps you should wait until you're
well.”
“What can you
tell me about this 'High Hrothgar?'”
He looked distant
for a moment. “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.” He shook his head. “No matter. Go High Hrothgar.
Learn what the Greybeards can teach you.”
A slight pause, as
one of the servants came up with a few items.
“You've
done a great service for me and my city, Dragonborn,” Jarl Balgruuf
announced. “By my right as Jarl, I name you Thane of Whiterun. It's
the greatest honor that's within my power to grant. I assign you
Lydia as your personal housecarl, and this weapon from my armory to
serve as your badge of office.” He smiled. “I'll also notify my
guards of your new status. 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.”
“My
– my lord, I can't – ”
He
took the axe from his own belt, holding it out to her with both
hands. “You can, and you will. My servant will lead you to the
armory to choose a small selection of items for your past deeds, as
well.”
She
shook her head, but obediently followed the servant when he beckoned.
As she was walking away, she heard the Jarl speak again.
“Back to
business, Proventus. We still have a city to defend.”
