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Sian's story part 9 - Behold the Fucking Dragonborn


jfraser

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I have no idea how long I was unconscious. I woke in a soft bed. My body ached, I felt dehydrated, and nothing looked familiar. For a brief moment I thought I was back in my dorm room, and my friends had pulled some sort of elaborate joke. But after sitting up - easier said than done, that day - I realized I was still in Skyrim. I was dressed in soft robes. The leather armor was gone but I saw, hanging over a chair beside the bed, a different outfit altogether, made of fur and metal. Fur boots sat there as well, along with a sword, though not Lysha’s. I eased out of the bed and pushed myself to shaky feet. The robe was thin, basically just a long nighty – not the kind of thing to wear in front of people, so I slipped it off and, after a bit of fumbling trial and error, put on the armor. It fit surprisingly well and was much more pliable and easy to move in than the leather.

 

I shuffled my way to the door of the room, trying to ignore the dull pain that throbbed in my groin (and thus the memories I was working feverishly to erase), and pulled it open with no small amount of trepidation. What I found was a large room with tables, a cheery fire, a few people mingling about, and a stoic man behind a counter who was watching me with an uncomfortable intensity. An inn, at a guess.

 

"'Bout time you woke up," the man said in a gravelly voice. "Delphine said to let you sleep, but after two days I figured you might be dead."

 

My parched mouth could only utter a harsh gasp, and my attempt at a smile likely looked more like a grimace, but he seemed to understand. He turned away for a moment, then turned back with a mug.

 

"Here. You look like you need a drink."

 

I felt a moment of panic - did I have any money? I groped the armor, but there were no pockets. Again, he seemed to understand.

 

"Don't worry about money. The people who dropped you off gave us enough to cover your expenses. For a while." He placed the mug on the counter and turned away.

 

I took the mug with as much of a thanks as my voice could manage and sank into the nearest available seat. A dark-skinned elf was sitting across the table, studiously ignoring my presence. Which was fine - I sat back with a sigh and took a sip, happy to avoid talking.

 

The drink was sweet, with a kick I was wholly unprepared for. It was the first time I had tried mead, and I did not like it much. Too sweet, especially when I had been expecting water. Still, the liquid eased the dryness in my lips and in my throat, and after several swallows, I found that my mouth could move freely once again. The bartender guy passed by and set a bowl of some sort of stew in front of me. The smell woke my slumbering appetite and made me salivate like one of Pavlov's dogs. The rich broth was heavenly, the meat and vegetables succulent beyond belief. It was the best-tasting food I had ever had. Hunger is, after all, the best spice.

 

Once I was satiated, I settled back with another sigh and watched the flames of the firepit dance. Some minstrel started up a song that I didn't listen to. I just let the music waft over me in oblique waves and whiled away the time thinking about nothing. I would have been happy to just sit like that for the rest of my life.

 

After a time, I realized I had been crying. I had no conscious awareness of it - I just noticed my cheeks were wet and my eyes were raw. Once I noticed these things, though, pain lanced through me like a bolt of lightning and I rocked and sobbed until my eyes were dry heaving and I could only breathe in gasps. I swallowed bile and eased myself back to peace, helped in no small part by another mug of mead. The stuff was growing on me quickly.

 

After some time the elf stood and started walking away; as she did so, I heard someone say the name "Edith," and she responded. My quest to go home jumped from the recessed shadows and I likewise jumped to my feet. And nearly fell, as my shaky legs complained about the sudden movement.

 

“Edith?" I said in my hoarse voice. "Is your name Edith?"

 

The elf turned and frowned at me. "It is. What do you..." Then her eyes met mine and I saw them widen. She started screaming gibberish at the top of her lungs: “BEHOLD! THE DRAGONBORN HAS COME! LIGHT SHINES IN CHAOS AND BREAKS ITS PITCH BLACK SHIELD! AAL AAZ AG ALUN AL!”

 

As might be expected, the bard stopped playing and all other sound in the inn ceased as every head in the place turned toward her.

 

I tried to speak but found my mouth dry again. I licked my lips and tried again. "Um...what?"

 

"I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me." Edith seemed a little flummoxed, as if she had surprised even herself.

 

"Right. So, I was told you could help me."

 

"Help you? Who told you...oh, Divines."

 

I braced myself for another bout of shouting, but she sank back into her chair instead, staring at me all the while. I lowered myself back into my seat as well, staring right back. After a moment, she spoke again, but this time quietly, as if to herself.

 

“A Dragonborn, marked by the Daedra (that was a worrisome word to hear), pulled to Tamriel just as…oh, what an age this is!”

 

The rest of the inn resumed its noise, although it was muted now. I think everyone was trying to hear what would happen next. The bard chose that moment to sing a song about a Dragonborn. I had just heard the word for the first time and was already becoming sick of it.

 

Edith smiled, then, although I can't say it was a particularly encouraging smile. Feral, more like. "I know what you are. You should know that there is no way you will ever be able to go home again. The only ones who have that kind of power are the Daedra, and it is clear that you are their new plaything. Settle in - you are in for a long, horrible life."

 

I began to protest, but she held up a forestalling hand. "I know, why you, blah blah blah. Look at it this way - there are intersections in time where the fate of the world - or even worlds - is decided. You are the linchpin of this intersection. You are, arguably, the most important person born in the last thousand years."

 

I felt the tears begin to well up again and protested, “But I don’t want to be the linchpin of an age! I just want to be a pharmacist!”

 

She laughed, which I felt a little unkind. “Well, once you are done dealing with what you are about to face, you can become anything you like. Provided the Daedra let you. But I’m afraid you’ll have to do it here.” She sighed and looked away. After a moment, she added, “Face your destiny. Go to Helgen. Let this age’s last gasp begin.”

 

“I…” I stopped. What was there to say? Or do? The dam of my denial cracked and broke and reality crashed through and swept everything away, leaving only my aching body shaking on a cold and desolate shore of truth. I took a huge swig of the mead, almost choking on the sweetness, then sighed.

 

“Well, as Churchill said, if you’re going through Hell, keep going.”

 

“I do not know who this Churchill is, but he sounds wise.”

 

After this encouraging talk, I asked for stronger drinks than the mead. Then I drank them. And then some more. Eventually I blacked out and woke up back in the soft bed, only this time my body ached less and my head ached much much more.

 

Stuck in this foreign, violent land, where many of the people and most of the wildlife seem intent on killing and/or raping me. Just what I always fucking wanted.

 

Don't feed the bastards - they'll just want more

 

Next Chapter

 

Previous Chapter

 

Start at the Beginning

Edited by jfraser

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