The Dragonborn Arrives (Skyrim)

The Way of the Voice

I wake up in some kind of guest room. The bed is the softest bed I've ever slept in, with plump pillows and silk sheets. 

Dragonborn. Dovahkiin. Greybeards. 

Everything about yesterday comes rushing back to me. I leap out of bed, relieved that my ankle is still healed from whatever absorbing the dragon soul did, and I fling open the wardrobe. I breathe a sigh of relief to see my armour there, polished and shining. I slip out of the cotton sleeping tunic I've been given and shimmy into my armour. 

I find my stalhrim axe and the Dwemer sword hanging up and I sheathe those. I catch a glimpse of myself in the looking glass over a wash basin. I don't look as tired or worn out as I expected myself to. In fact I feel...I feel alive. Like there's a great power within me that's fueling me. I suppose that there is. 

I follow the sounds of voices and I find the Jarl eating breakfast with his steward, Irileth and another Nord man. They look very similar, so I assume he's Balgruuf's brother. 

"Ah, there you are," Irileth looks up. "We were worried, but Farengar insisted you were fine,"

"I feel better today," I take a spare seat next to Irileth. "I can't believe yesterday...happened,"

The Jarl's brother beams at me. "Didn't you hear the thundering sound as you returned to Whiterun? That was the voice of the Greybeards, summoning you to High Hrothgar! This hasn't happened in ...centuries, at least!" there's something contagious about his high energy.

"Hrongar, calm yourself," Proventus looks displeased. "What does any of this Nord nonsense have to do with our friend here? Capable as she may be, I don't see any signs of her being this, what, 'Dragonborn.'"

Hrongar goes red with anger."Nord nonsense?! Why you puffed-up ignorant...these are our sacred traditions that go back to the founding of the First Empire!"

"Hrongar. Don't be so hard on Avenicci," Balgruuf sounds tired, like he's had this conversation before with the two of them. 

Proventus blushes. "I meant no disrespect, of course. It's just that...what do these Greybeards want with her?"

"I'm right here you know," I raise my eyebrows and take a bite of the food in front of me. Delicious. Sweet rolls for breakfast with toasted bread loves and sweet jam. Also steaming cups of tea, with Valenwood herbs infused.

"That's the Greybeards' business, not ours," Balgruuf looks at me from across the table. "Whatever happened when you killed that dragon, it revealed something in you, and the Greybeards heard it. If they think you're Dragonborn, who are we to argue? You'd better get up to High Hrothgar immediately. There's no refusing the summons of the Greybeards, it's a tremendous honor,"

"Okay...how do I get there?" I ask, praying it's a quick journey. 

"The steps in Ivarstead," Balgruuf says. "Head to Ivarstead and I'm sure a local can point you in the right direction,"

I sigh inwardly. I don't have the heart to explain I've got not idea where Ivarstead is.

***

Ivarstead turns out to be an unimpressive little village and the climb up the 7,000 steps is an unimpressive long climb. Maybe if it was a clear day and I could actually see the view, I'd appreciate it, but all I see is clouds and fog. And the odd goat. 

"Fetch this Skylar," I mutter to myself. "Go here, Skylar,"

Still, I came to Skyrim looking to find myself and explore. I am exploring and I've discovered a huge secret about me: I'm Dragonborn. I shiver. Dragonborn. An old Nord story and I'm not even Nordic - that must be a kick in the teeth for some of the more traditional Nords. Was the dragon arriving in Helgen a total coincidence? If anything, this raises questions about my parents who I have got absolutely no idea aboug. Marco always told me that he'd tell me when "I was ready".