The Last Dragonborn: Novella's Legacy *On Hold*

Into the Unknown

The Jarl of Whiterun's guards eyed me suspiciously as I climbed the well-worn path, each footfall a hammer blow against the cobblestones. It was the same path I'd taken, which felt like a lifetime ago, though back then, I was fleeing the Companions, not a dragon. The blue tunic and furs I wore were no disguise, simply the clothes on my back when I escaped Helgen with Ralof. Yet, beneath these travel-worn garments, beat the heart of an Imperial thief.

My breath hitched as I met the gazes of those around me. Had I robbed any of these people? A stolen ring here, a purloined coin purse there... Guilt gnawed at me like a hungry wolf. And now, I, the very cur who had preyed upon them, was to be their savior, their unlikely protector. Fate, it seemed, had a twisted sense of humor.

I lifted my chin and forced myself to meet their eyes. No flicker of recognition, yet a knot of fear tightened in my stomach. Every instinct urged me to slip away, to vanish into the crowd. But Whiterun needed a warning, and I was the only one who could deliver it.

The city spread out before me, a familiar haven of stone and timber. To my right, Adrianne Avenicci worked tirelessly at her forge, the rhythmic clang of her hammer a steady beat against the morning air. Beyond, the empty house stood silent and forlorn. Belethor's General Goods beckoned with its usual jumble of wares while the Bannered Mare promised warmth and respite.

The marketplace bustled with activity, the shouts of vendors weaving a vibrant tapestry of sound. Furs, gems, cured meats, and vegetable baskets filled the stalls. Elysia's voice echoed in my memory: "Those folk have little enough, lass. Don't you go adding to their burdens." I had listened to her then, and I would listen now.

Whiterun. It hadn't changed. But I had. The dragon's attack and the weight of this secret had changed me, and there was no going back.

I hurried past the Gildergreen, its skeletal branches clawing at the sky. Even in my earliest memories, the tree had been barren, a stark reminder of the decay that nibbled at the edges of Whiterun's prosperity. Beside it, Heimskr, the town's self-proclaimed prophet of Talos, held court before his usual audience of none. A pang of nostalgia struck me. How many times had Thalid and I tormented the poor fool, our youthful laughter echoing through the square? Once, I recalled with a grin, Thalid had even laced Heimskr's mead with a potent sleeping draught, granting us a blessed afternoon of silence.

Shaking off the memory, I ascended the steps towards Dragonsreach. The Jarl's palace had always been forbidden territory, a place of power and authority that I, a common thief, had no business entering. Yet, here I was, drawn by a force beyond my control.

The doors loomed before me, massive slabs of oak bound in iron. I threw my weight against one, the hinges groaning in protest as it swung inward. Voices drifted from the depths of the hall, drawing me towards the throne room.

"What would you have me do, then? Nothing?" Jarl Balgruuf's voice rang out, sharp with frustration.

"My lord. Please. This is no time for rash action. I just think we need more information before we act." Proventus Avenicci, the Jarl's steward, replied, his tone cautious.

I entered the hall, my footsteps echoing on the stone floor. Balgruuf turned, his keen eyes fixing upon me. He stroked his thick beard, his gaze sweeping over me with an intensity that made me squirm. I felt like a sparrow caught in the gaze of a hawk, every flaw and imperfection laid bare.

"And who is this?" he rumbled, his voice deep and resonant. Oh good, I'm nobody.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Irileth, the Jarl's Dunmer housecarl, glide towards me, her sword drawn. Her dark eyes narrowed, assessing me for any threat to her lord. I swallowed hard, raising my hands in a gesture of surrender.