I stopped in Whiterun long enough to visit Dame Gray-mane and the chapel of Kynareth and set out again the same day. I was nearly to the crossroads before I reached a decision: I could not bring myself to tell Ulfric what my father had said. I had to convince my father to declare himself squarely in Ulfric’s camp. I analyzed everything my father had said, and realized that I had been resisting doing what was needed. Father wouldn’t get involved in the rebellion until the dragons were dealt with. He had already asked me to help with that, and to my discredit, I had ignored the request. On that thought, I turned south to find that creepy barrow overlooking Riverwood.
Bandits infested the barrow’s antechamber, but I have come a long way since the days when I was easy prey for scavengers like those. Payback felt good. I soon discovered that, between traps, spiders, and then draugrs, the bandits were dying one by one as they attempted to penetrate the barrow. The question was, why? What was so valuable that they would continue to try after seeing their fellows drop dead?
I began to get a sense when I rescued a dunmer from the web of a giant frostbite spider. I killed the spider with a few blows, but before I cut the dunmer down, I let him beg while I examined the room. He babbled about some incredible treasure, and how he had the key. Could it be the dragon stone that I had been sent to collect? Finally, I cut him down. I had no intention of letting him die of starvation stuck in that web. I wasn’t surprised though when he tried to elude me. I followed at an easy pace, listening to his footfalls. I’m glad I didn’t try to keep up, as he awakened a draugr and fell victim to his own greed.
I’m not going to describe every room of Bleak Falls Barrow. Tomb robbers—which is what I felt like—have been fighting the undead since Atmora, and bards with far more talent than I have written their stories. The oldest tale I know on the subject is the Saga of Grettir the Strong, which is believed to be a thousand years older than Skyrim itself. I’ll simply advise that when you hear a noise in a tomb, go toward it as quickly as possible, and cut down the wight before it can shake the sleepy out of its head.
The key from the dunmer bandit was a golden ornament shaped like a dragon’s claw, and it was necessary for opening the final door. Inside was a tomb, backed by a wall covered in draconic inscriptions. Korvanjund had been quite similar, and thanks to my education under Farengar, I was able to decipher a little bit of it. Seeing a second one here made me pay a bit more attention. I made out the word, “Fus”, meaning “force”. Wouldn’t Farengar be excited to hear about this? He’d sent me looking for a dragon stone, and here was an entire dragon wall.
The dragon stone itself turned out to be in the possession of a draugr overlord, who awoke as I was absorbed in the wall. He was tougher than the rest. I had to hit him four times before he finally collapsed.
Dragon stone in hand, I set out back down the mountain, stopping in at the traders in Riverwood to sell some of the weapons I had collected. Turned out the golden dragon claw belonged to them, so I was happy to return it. My stop also resulted in a new friend—a bard named Sven, who was penning an epic poem of the rebellion. He agreed to travel with me to Whiterun in hopes of recording my father’s decision to join Ulfric’s movement.
In Dragonsreach, I went to first to Farengar, but I did not give him the stone right away. Many’s the time he’s refused to answer my questions until he was good and ready. I enjoyed doing the same to him. He was in consultation with an armored woman. I turned my back on them and spent some time working at the alchemy table, but I listened to their conversation. She was interested in Farengar’s research, and he was surprisingly respectful to her. I gathered she had some familiarity with ancient runes.
Finally, I pulled the stone out of my pack and laid it on his desk. “You found it!” he exclaimed.
“You went into Bleak Falls Barrow after that thing?” asked the woman. “That was a respectable accomplishment.”
“I have to admit, you are a cut above the usual rabble your father assigns to me,” said Farengar, grudgingly.
It was the highest compliment he had ever paid to me, so I bowed my head in acknowledgement.
“Farengar!” interrupted Irileth. “The jarl needs to speak to you, now. You should come too, Balgruuf.”
We glanced at each other in puzzlement. Farengar and I had almost nothing in common. What business of my father’s could possibly involve both of us?
Dragons, of course! A dragon had been sighted near the Western Watchtower. Farengar offered to get to work interpreting the dragon stone—as though he wasn’t already itching to do just that. My father turned to Irileth. “I want you to take some men to the Western Watchtower. We need to defend the city. Kill the beast if you can.”
“Of course, my lord.”
“It would be preferable to study the creature,” Farengar interjected. Ignoring him, my father turned to me.
“You did it,” he said, his voice bright with… surprise? Wonder? It was a tone I hardly recognized. Could it have been… pride? “I knew you would. Take this,” he pulled a round shield off the wall. “It is time for you to have it. It will protect you well.”
I was speechless as I accepted the shield, which had been passed down in our family since the Third Era. The last time my father had honored me, it was for killing a fox when I was seven.
“I need your help again,” he went on. “You survived the dragon attack at Helgen. That makes you our most experienced dragon fighter. I want you to go with Irileth and her men to the Western Watchtower and take this beast down.”
“Yes Father,” I said, excitedly. I turned to run out, but he called me back.
“Balgruuf! Irileth is in charge…”
“Of course she is, father,” I replied, a little too quickly.
“…of this operation,” he finished. “But there may be others.”
Such a suggestion was far more reward than a family shield could ever have been…especially considering I had no use for a shield. My weapon of choice required both hands to wield, and this occurred to me as I ran across the Great Hall, trying to figure out what to do with it. I shrugged it over my shoulder; perhaps it would do some good there.
The Western Watchtower was in ruins by the time we arrived. The tower guards told us the dragon had been there and left, but it came back soon after we arrived. The beast was big, but not so big as the one that had attacked Helgen, and unlike that other monster, it was soon clear we were wounding this one. Most of us had our bows out, and the dragon circled so fast that we couldn’t get a bead on it until it decided to stand still and attack someone. Once a few arrows had pierced it, it would fly away and circle until it could… what? Get its breath back?
Finally, so many arrows had pierced it that it came to ground and stayed there. I didn’t want to kill it with arrows; I wanted to be close to it when it died, so I drew my sword and ran into melee range. I swung, and I think I dealt it its death blow, but it is entirely possible that it was already exhaling its last breath by the time I got there. Then something very odd happened.
The body of the beast burst into flames, and within seconds, nothing was left but the bones, and a great whirlwind arose from the corpse and engulfed me in swirling energy. I could feel it flowing into me. Then it was over, and I stood there stunned, as guards ran toward me from all sides.
“You absorbed its power, didn’t you?” asked one of them. “That makes you Dragonborn.”
“Dragonborn, Me?” I asked. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“But that’s what just happened,” another insisted. “Try to shout. Go ahead.”
They were teasing me, but I was willing to go along, so I thought of the word I had seen written on the wall in Bleak Falls Barrow, and I drew in my breath and shouted it at them, “FUS!” It came out quite a bit louder than I meant it to, drawing even more attention to me, and several of the guards staggered and nearly lost their footing. They must have practiced that together, waiting for the chance to use it on someone. I chuckled at their antics.
“That proves it,” the second guard said in an awed whisper. There was now a crowd of guardsmen, most of whom I knew, staring at me like I was Tiber Septim himself. I appreciate a good joke, but this was beginning to make me uncomfortable. I cast about for a distraction, and my eyes lit upon Sven, standing nearby.
“Sven!” I crowed heartily. “Sven, did you really just fight a dragon dressed in your homespun and armed with nothing more than that dagger I see on your belt?”
Now all the attention passed to Sven, and he grinned. “No sir, the dragon was naked.”
As the man erupted in laughter, and patted Sven on the back, I said, “That, gentlemen, is a Nord with the soul of a dragon!”
Irileth guffawed appreciatively. “That’s right, boys. Trust in your steel and the strength of your arm, not in some old legend.”
We began to make our way back to Whiterun. Even still, I caught some of the men glancing at me like they really believed I might be a living legend.
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Thank you everyone. I'm glad you enjoyed it. I was ... more