The Last Dragonborn

Chapter 4

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I sprinted the remaining distance to where the priests of Talos slumbered. They roused to action slower than I would have liked but came without question. I would have paid them whatever they asked, but they never asked about coin. They simply dressed and followed me back to our rooms at Candlehearth Hall. They let me stay at first, but eventually my pacing and constant worry became too much even for the priest's endless patience.

And so I found myself sitting on the great stone steps of the city in the early hours of the morning waiting to hear if my friend lived or died. Staring up at the dancing auroras and the twin moons I replayed the dragon attack over and over. I scrutinized every move I made, where I should have been faster, stronger, better.

I was Dragonborn, but I was also a woman and a Nord, and I was small for both those things. My size had always been an asset in The Guild. I could get into tighter places, was harder to detect and moved more silently than any other thief I had ever met. When I found out I was Dragonborn I had to find a whole new way to fight, a way that compensated for my shortcomings and heightened my strengths. It was why I fought with two small swords instead of a greatsword or shield.

Mjoll and I had perfected our strategy long ago. We had fought together so long we could almost read each other's minds in a fight. So what went wrong? This was not our first dragon, nor in fact was it even our tenth. It hadn't even been a particularly powerful dragon. I racked my brain over and over again. Something had been different - where had I gone wrong? I had ignored my instincts, I knew that.

I was shivering, and it must have been going on for a while because I realized my jaw hurt from clenching it. I desperately wanted to lower my cowl and massage away the tension but the passing guards were showing far too much interest in me. My anonymity was what kept me safe, both as the Dragonborn and as the Guildmaster. There just weren't that many people walking around in Nightingale armor. 

The city gates swept open. I frowned as a fresh blast of cold air made me shiver once more. It was the wee hours of the morning, nothing good could be happening. I snaked my hand beneath my cloak to rest on the hilt of one of my swords. The enchantment hummed through me, temporarily driving away the chill. The last patrolling guard had passed seventy-eight seconds ago. But, as I was tightening my fist around the hilt I realized it was only a small squad of Stormcloak soldiers returning home. I went still as I recognized their leader. The tall, handsome Nord was unmistakable.

I hadn't seen Ralof sine we parted ways in Riverwoood - I couldn't remember how long ago. Over two years. I pressed the heal of my hand against my forehead. Two years since Helgen...

Ralof and I fought back to back to escape first Helgen, then the treacherous caverns below. We protected each other, fought for each other and eventually escaped. He invited me to travel with him to his sister's mill. There they took me in, fed me, clothed me and let me stay with their small family as long as I wished.

In the weeks we took to rest, heal and regain our strength Ralof taught me to fight. He taught me self sufficiency - something no one in my life had ever cared to teach me beyond the ability to lie, cheat and steal - those were my father's legacy. In the peace by the river I began to fancy myself in love with Ralof. We stayed up late into the nights, sometimes chatting until nearly dawn.

But soon, the outside world invaded my sanctuary. Someone needed to travel to Whiterun to warn the Jarl of the dragons and once Ralof was well enough he became anxious to return to the war. He spent our last two days together trying desperately to convince me, once finished in Whiterun, to continue on to Windhelm and join the cause.