Crossfire (A Skyrim Fan Fiction)

Chapter 6: Return to Whiterun

Perhaps better than the guards of any other Hold in Skyrim, the guards of Riften knew not to ask questions. In a city where Maven ruled with an invisible, reaching fist and thieves lurked beneath the streets, asking the wrong hooded, cloaked figure the wrong question could get anyone killed, whether they were sworn to protect the people of The Rift or not.

Tonight, six hooded figures departed Riften through the main gates. The guards said nothing, merely wishing us a good night as we traipsed single-file to the stables to collect our horses.

I patted the neck of my brown stallion, watching the others ready their horses. Six men—well, five men and one woman—and six horses. For the Thieves' Guild, this was riding out in force.

"What's your name, I wonder," I murmured to the brown horse. Despite being a stallion, the horse was a little smaller than Gormlaith. I'd killed someone for this horse, although I couldn't remember who. Some unlucky soul had come upon me on the road right after I escaped Apocrypha, and I had stabbed... him? Her? through the eye without hesitation, half blind with pain and deaf from the echoes of the voice in my head.

"I shouldn't think about that, huh?"

The horse flicked its ear. If that was an answer, I didn't know what it meant.

I led the horse from the shelter of the stable and mounted. The animal stood stock-still beneath me, showing more interest in the grass than our journey. "Vhoel?" I asked as the new thief rode his horse beside mine.

"Mhm?"

No Guildmaster? Or Dragonborn? Pleased, I asked my question. "This is a long shot, but do you have any idea what happened to my horse after the battle? Big paint war horse with a lot of muscle, ebony-shod hooves, scars on her legs. I sent her away right before I confronted Miraak on the fields."

Vhoel shook his head slowly. "I'm afraid I have no idea. It was chaos after you... after what happened. Most of the captains were slain, and you bashed Vignar in the head."

"Oh Divines," I groaned. "I forgot about that. He'll be livid when he finds out I'm still alive."

"Perhaps. He appreciated the assistance of the dragons enough to let one live in Whiterun."

"Unbelievable," I muttered, remembering Jarl Vignar's strident protests in the wake of my decision to let the dragons fight with us. "How is that working out for the city?"

"Actually, Silsivhir has been a blessing to Whiterun. The battle left most of the city in ruins, the walls destroyed, and the warriors wounded or dead. Silsivhir roasted the first group of bandits who thought they would use the situation to their advantage, and the roads and plains around Whiterun have never been safer since he started living in Dragonsreach. Even the giants fear him. The townsfolk supply him with food, and he protects their land and livestock."

"Unbelievable" was all I could say for a second time. No wonder Odahviing had lost his respect for the younger dragon. Not only was Silsivhir living in the very place one of their kind, Numinex, had been imprisoned for years, but he was protecting the people who had once, ages ago, served and revered dragons before hunting them to extinction. It had to be a blow to the pride of any dragon who knew of the situation.

Vhoel shrugged. "It's more unbelievable that Vignar has been so accommodating. You must have really hit him hard."

That comment startled a laugh out of me. "I hit him as hard as he deserved."

"What's so funny, Lad?" Brynjolf asked, nudging his mare to stand beside us.

"Nothing. Ready to move out?"