Skyrim: The Last Dragonborn (The Dragonborn Saga: Book 1)

Chapter 3: Egil

The patrons of the Bannered mare nursing their standards craned their necks towards the doors that let a rush of cold air in. With low rumbles, they returned back to their drinks when the door was closed and Egil approached the fire to warm himself.

His mysterious savior had brushed past him and made a line straight for the bar. Egil couldn't wrap his mind around how close he was to death and how she saved his life. She seemed so casual, yet he had been feeling like a coward. 

The woman slipped a few gold coins from her purse and pressed them against the bar. Ysolda counted the coins, then filled two tankards with ale. 

"Come," the Breton mage said. "Let's sit."

The Breton picked an alcove in the back of the Inn away from any of the other patrons who didn't know a fight took place at the city's gates. As they sat in the table's candlelight across from each other, her features were much clearer to Egil: a soft, rounded pink face, the glint of her emerald eyes, and her amber hair absorbing the candlelight. 

He took a quick and desperate gulp of his ale. It tasted of honey, apple, and lavender. The Breton watched him over the rim of the tankard. Egil wiped the dribbles that collected on his mustache with the back of his hand and swallowed around the lump in his throat.

"So, what's your name?"

The Breton closed her eyes and raised the tankard to drink. She opened them after setting the tankard down and smiled, warmly.

"Ocellina."

"I am-"

"I know who you are," she said swatting the air. 

"You're adept with magic." Egil wasn't sure what to make of this conversation or meeting. Panic closed on his heart like a mail-glove - squeezing the air and life out of him. "Who are you, besides Ocellina?"

Ocellina straightened and drove her shoulders back. 

"Arch-Mage to the College of Winterhold."

A wave of skepticism washed over the Skald as he said: "I thought Savos Aren was the Arch-Mage the last time I went to the college?"

Ocellina glanced away, drank, then glanced towards the bar again. 

"He was." 

Her voice was lower, pensive. Egil felt the heat rise to his cheeks and he stared into the light-colored ale. 

"So what brings you to Whiterun, Arch-Mage?"

Whatever pensiveness or sorrow in her eyes and voice dissipated and her eyes came together to narrow their gaze on Egil. 

"The Dragonborn."

"Many have. Jarls, townsfolk from far and wide, Imperial agents, Thalmor, even the Stormcloaks. I hate to disappoint you after coming so far but I haven't the slightest clue where he has gone. Have you checked with the Greybeards?" 

"I did. I traveled up that damned mountain and spoke to the hermits on their cliff. They had told me they knew of his loss. They saw the burden on his shoulders. He spent a few days there hoping to become a Greybeard and change his ways but he couldn't let go of the pain. He turned his back on them and walked back down the mountain. Not even the people of Ivarstead knew where he went. So naturally, that led me to the last lead I have, you."

Egil scratched his stomach as he spoke, "do you know what is happening in Skyrim? Four months have passed since Alduin was defeated. Famine, disease, war. This winter is the worst there has ever been and this country wasn't prepared for it. Farms are either sacked and raided by soldiers or were torched by the dragons. The days begin to grow shorter and now in the darkness, vampires have emerged terrorizing the country in open attacks. Like all great heroes of yore, the Nerevarine, the Champion of Cyrodiil... he vanihed. Gone." The Skald's heart throbbed. "The very people he sacrificed himself for turned on him and took everything he loved. Maybe we deserve everything that is happening to us. Maybe, he shouldn't have saved us in the first place."

Ocellina yawned and finished her ale with a loud gulp. 

"That's why I must find him."

"Which part? I told you a lot."

"The last bit," she answered absently. "About him not saving us. On the contrary, he's going to bring ruin to us."

Egil shot up in his chair, an anger rising through his stomach to his chest and throat. 

"Impossible! How do you know this?"

Ocellina glanced around before leaning forward to say: "I was given a vision."

"A vision?"

"A world that bent to the will of a Dragonborn. Some kind of shout he'll learn, I suppose. One that'll turn people's minds empty and only listen to what he says."

Egil refused to believe it. He waved her words away and shook his head.

"He lost his family," Ocellina said pressing her point. "He has the power to take vengeance the same as Talos used only a fraction of his power to conquer Tamriel."

"No. I have lived by his side. I know him, he wouldn't."

Ocellina held her glare on his eyes. The skald felt the back of his neck crawl. He took another sip of mead and waved down the wench. Ocellina pushed her tankard forward and a wench who filled out both tankards. Egil figured her stare would break but when he lowered his tankard from his lips her eyes were still locked on his.

"Four months is a long time. A man could change." Ocellina interlocked her fingers. "Do you really know him since you last saw him?"

The truth was, she could be right. After the Dragonborn returned from defeating Alduin, the war resumed and his family was killed during a battle just outside Whiterun. His shout caused the land to rain and storm for three days and three nights before he vanished. Egil searched as far as he could for his friend, but could not find him. 

"Do really think he could have changed?"

She smirked.

"Maybe. That's why we should learn. Besides, as you said, Skyrim needs him now or never. Maybe this could be your chance..." Her eyes widened. "A chance to have a Part Two of your saga?"

Egil would be lying if he said the thought hadn't crossed his mind. He stroked the braided end of his mustache that hung down to his smooth beard.

"Well, where could he be? Last I heard was months ago at Blackmoor. When I spoke to the people they said he vanished in the night with no trace."

"That's what the people along the path I followed said. Very well, we could try Blackmoor. Are you good with the people there."

"Of course."

"Then at sunrise, I will come to you, and we will prepare for the journey. As Arch-Mage of Winterhold, I am more than authorized to pay you a hefty sum for helping me find him. When we find him and bring him back, you will be able to pay your land rent for years to the Jarl. Do we have a deal?"

***

At dawn, Egil massaged his aching tailbone. He sucked in the crisp morning air and marched through the new layer of freshly fallen snow.

"Good morning, brother," said Egil before a charcoal-colored statue. Snow piled on the tops of it and in the crevices. A man wearing armor and a horned helmet looked bravely to the mountains. Underneath the statue, next to an inscription, were five tallow candles. Their fires were green. The Skald brushed the snow with his gloved hand and shakenly sniffed the air.

In honor of Roggnavar Harklsson, the Dragonborn and savior of Whiterun. Last Seed, 4E 201.

His heart throbbed. From the altar, he gathered a bundle of dried straw and touched it to the green flame.

"Lo there to Akatosh, Father of Time," he whispered and dipped the straw into the second flame. "Lo there to Kyne, the guardian of the living. Mother of Men and the voice. If he has passed, may you guide his soul to Sovngarde. May you let his family join him for an eternity of final peace. If he is not, then may the Father watch over him. May Stendarr protect him." He left the straw to burn away against the stone and the wind to carry the ashes away. "I have missed you old friend. I'm coming to save you."