“DOVAHKIIN!”
“What the Oblivion was that?” I wasn’t the only one to jump when that word came crashing across the city like thunder.
We all looked up, searching the skies for another dragon. We each looked at each other, glances passing from one to another in turn, though every eye eventually came to rest on me. I realized that whatever this was, it wasn’t a joke. I finished the walk up to my father’s hall deep in thought.
Father paced across his dais as Irileth, Sven and I entered the hall. “Irileth!” he bellowed. “What’s the status of that dragon?”
“It is dead, my lord.”
“That is well. And how was my son’s performance?” Here it comes, I thought.
“Your son is a warrior to be proud of, my Lord, and he has the makings of a leader.”
Did Irileth just praise me?
Father’s face was radiant as he lowered the Axe of Whiterun from the wall behind the throne, and held it out to me. “I’ve never been prouder of you, my son. I name you Thane of Whiterun. I’ve told Proventius that you are to be allowed to buy a house in the city, and I have assigned Lydia to be your housecarl. There is a house available near Proventius’ daughter’s business. I understand the two of you are on friendly terms.”
“I am honored, Father,” I said in a public voice. Then I grinned, and in a lower voice I asked, “Should I interpret this as you want to keep me in the city, or that you want to get me out of the house?”
For a moment, I believed I had offended him, but then he cracked a smile. “Either interpretation is adolescent, Balgruuf. You should interpret it as a man would: I need your support, and I need the City to see that you are both your own man and also mine. Do you understand that?”
“I believe I do,” I said seriously. “And long have I waited to hear you say it, Father.” I accepted the axe. And stood there, awkwardly as I felt its balance.
“Father, I have another question for you, and I need you to know I am not in jest when I ask it.”
“Go on,” he said cautiously.
“Something very odd happened to me when that dragon died, and the men are saying I could be the Dovahkiin.”
“Then the Graybeards were calling for you?” he asked excitedly.
“The who?”
“The Graybeards, Balgruuf! Did you not hear their call? Did you never listen to anything Farengar taught you?”
“I did, Father! I can even read some of the dragon runes in the old barrows.”
“HAHA! I doubt you learned that from Farengar! Not that he can’t interpret ancient runes, but he assumes that my children could never do so. Son, if you are truly the Dovahkiin for whom the Graybeards have called, you must go to them at High Hrothgar on the Throat of the World. They can teach you more. I envy you; I made the climb up the Seven Thousand Steps myself when I was young.”
The Seven Thousand Steps rang a bell, and I remembered Farengar talking about High Hrothgar and the Graybeards. I was struck by my father’s tone. He was wistful, nostalgic, warm. I had not seen this side of him since Mother died.
“After the war is over, I will make that same pilgrimage, Father,” I promised him.
“Do not wait,” he insisted. “I would have you at High Hrothgar immediately.”
“Father, the country is at war. We must focus on that until the struggle has been won.”
He hesitated, and seemed about to argue. Then he returned to his throne, leaned on his right elbow and stroked his beard.
“Proventius, what say you in regards to Ulfric’s offer of an alliance?” asked my father.
Finally! I exulted. The time has come.
“As always my lord, I urge caution. I would wait to see what Ulfric does.” I should have known that Proventius was responsible for my father’s inaction.
“Irileth, what say you?”
“Ulfric is not to be trusted. There should be no more waiting, my lord.” Why would she distrust Ulfric? Had she never heard him speak?
“I agree with you,” my father replied.
“In that case, my lord,” Proventius added, “May I suggest that we contact General Tullius in Solitude and request that he send a detachment of legionnaires to assist in the defense of the city?”
“That is a very good idea,” my father said. “See to it right away.”
For several seconds, I refused to believe what I was hearing. Things had been going so well! While I was still numb with shock, my father turned back to me.
“Go to Ulfric. Tell him I am returning his axe to him. After that, I want you to return here with all haste and help us organize the defense of the city.”
I would not take Ulfric’s axe. “I can not do this, Father.”
“You have been our liaison for a month now. You can do it one more time.”
“That’s not what I mean,” I was hesitant to explain. Quietly, I said, “I… I swore an oath, Father.”
“An oath?” my father asked. “An oath to Ulfric Stormcloak?” I could hear the thunder building up in his voice. “What was the substance of this oath?”
From memory, I recited, "I do swear my blood and
honor to the service of Ulfric Stormcloak,
Jarl of Windhelm and true High King of Skyrim.
As Talos is my witness, may this oath bind me
to death and beyond...
...even to my lord as to my fellow brothers
and sisters in arms.
All hail the Storm…”
“AN OATH TO AN OATHBREAKER MEANS NOTHING!” Father roared. “Do you really think that murderer has the good of the people in mind? Ulfric is high king of nothing, and he never will be, as Talos is MY witness!” He shook as he tried to get hold of himself, and hid his eyes behind his right hand. In a somewhat quieter voice, he went on. “If your own code of honor demands that you not oppose this would-be tyrant, then take my message to Ulfric and then go to High Hrothgar and stay there, for I will have a count of every citizen of Whiterun who dies by your hand.”
My heart pounding, I backed down the steps, then turned and raced across the Hall. I had to get away from him in order to think. How had things turned so bad so quickly? As I was just about to step out of the hall, I was approached by a woman in steel armor with a sword on her belt.
“My Thane,” she said, bowing her head. “My name is Lydia, and I am to be your housecarl.”
“My… housecarl,” I repeated, taking a long moment to process what she had said. “Well Lydia, I have neither a house nor the money to buy one. What’s more, I suspect that if my father could take back my new title, he would do so.”
“Well my lord, he can not,” she told me. “He must live with the choices he has made. I am assigned to you, and I am at your service.”
“OK fine, follow me. Carry this.” I handed her the problematic shield. “Feel free to use it.”
“My Lord, it appears you already have someone with you. Did you want to release him before we leave?”
“What are you talking… oh Sven, right.” Sven followed me about so quietly that I tended to forget he was there.
“Sven, I suggest you might stay here in Whiterun to finish your epic, as I think this is where the action will be.”
Sven nodded. “That is the way it’s looking, isn’t it? It’s been my honor to travel with you, my lord.”
“Don’t call me that,” I said quietly. I felt awkward, like something was incomplete. Finally, it dawned on me. I rummaged through my pack and found a one-handed war axe I’d picked up in Bleak Falls Barrow. “Sven, I want you to have this. If you see any more dragons, I’d rather see you with this than with that table knife you carry around.”
Sven took the axe like it was precious. “I will treasure this, my lord, as a memory of this day. Someday, I’ll tell my son its history.” That easily, that plain, undecorated axe became someone’s heirloom. How’s that for alchemy, Farengar?
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