Fredas 11th of Heartfire 4E201 4pm

Delphine

I hate waiting

"Orgnar… Orgnar! Are you listening?"

"Hard not to."

"The ale is going bad. We need to get a new batch." He doesn't respond. "Did you hear me?"

"Yep. Ale's goin' bad."

I would smack him if he weren't the only villager left in Riverwood still willing to work for me. "I guess you don't have potatoes in your ears after all. Just make sure we get a fresh batch in soon."

It's a shame I'm so good at waiting. Invariably means I have to wait even more past that. And Riverwood, sleepy little backwater town that it is, is the best place I've found in Skyrim to wait. Thankfully, the thing about waiting is that it ends… eventually.

"I'd like to rent the attic room."

Finally.

"Attic room, eh?" I hear Orgnar say. "Well… we don't have an attic room, but you can have the one on the left. Make yourself at home."

I ensure my dagger is still strapped to my hip and within reach, before I head to the room. And inside I find -

…The Breton bard?

I manage to hide my surprise before I say, "So, you're the Dragonborn I've been hearing so much about. I think you're looking for this." He seems about to say something as I had over the Horn, but I shush him before he gets out anything. "Not here. But we need to talk. Follow me."

My mind races as I lead him to my quarters. When I'd heard people talk about the Dragonborn who'd plumbed the depths of Bleak Falls Barrow, I admit I assumed the hefty Nord woman I'd met was who they'd meant. This man did not exactly match the vision of the Nord legend about which I'd read.

I wait for the supposed Dragonborn to close my door before popping open the false back of my closet and heading down into the basement. Everything still looked as I left it; alchemy station in one corner, enchanting dais in another, and a number of reference texts and the Dragonstone itself on the center table. Sure, the room was built by me a number of years ago, hidden to even the most discerning eye and locked with myself having the only key to the entrance. But you don't survive thirty years on the run from an organization of genocidal elvish supremacists by not being as paranoid as possible. It'd be just like them to have invented a teleportation spell behind the Empire's back. Unlikely, but… well, I'd seen more impossible things this month than something as relatively mundane as that.

"The Greybeards seem to think you're the Dragonborn. I hope they're right."

"I might've guessed it was you. Delphine was it?"

He's sharp. "I don't know if I should be surprised or not that you recognized me from Dragonsreach." I make a mental note to deepen my disguise next time I go out.

"Well, the only other person in Skyrim who might've known about the Horn would be Ulfric Stormcloak - and Farengar too I suppose - and this cloak and dagger business isn't exactly his style… Or so the songs suggest about he and his Storm Cloaks."

"Hmph. You'd be surprised how… versatile the rebel king of Skyrim can be. Best not rely on stories alone."

"Considering I have only a brief, almost deadly carriage ride with a bound and gagged Ulfric to go on, I'll take your word for it." He pulls up a chair to the table and sits heavily in it. "Talao is my name, if you weren't aware from our passing meeting back then. And the Greybeards are right. I am Dragonborn."

Confident too. "I hope so. But you'll forgive me if I don't assume something's true just because the Greybeards say so." He doesn't seem offended, so I press on. "I just handed you the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller. Does that make me Dragonborn, too?"

That earns me a skeptical look, as he picks my copy of Children of the Sky off the table. "I think we both know there's a bit more to the Greybeards' belief than a bit of dungeon-delving. Or should I demonstrate my Voice here and now?"

Very confident. Maybe to the point of arrogance? Didn't seem quite this pushy back in Whiterun. Regardless, I don't budge, as I calmly pluck the book from his hand. "Ulfric can Shout, and he's not Dragonborn. Any Nord, any person with the time and motivation could learn to."

"Next time," he says with a sign, "you could just send a courier."

Despite myself, I give a small grin at his exasperation. "I didn't go to all this trouble on a whim.I needed to make sure it wasn't a Thalmor trap. I'm not your enemy. I already gave you the horn. I'm actually trying to help you. I just need you to hear me out."

"...Go on, I'm listening." I swear, it causes him physical pain not to ask more. A curious streak wider than Magnus's.

"Like I said in my note, I've heard that you might be Dragonborn. I'm party of a group that's been looking for you… well, someone like you, for a very long time. If you really are Dragonborn, that is. Before I can tell you any more, I need to make sure I can trust you."

He looks pensive for a moment. Despite - or maybe because of - his forwardness, I find it exceptionally hard to read his intent. "You said the Thalmor are after you?"

"Yes. We're very old enemies."

"Which explains why you took the horn from Ustengrav."

"I knew the Greybeards would send you there if they thought you were Dragonborn. They're nothing if not predictable," I say with a grin. "When you showed up here, I knew you were the one the Greybeards sent, and not some Thalmor plant."

I can see him making the connection in his mind. Maybe even that much information was more than enough for it to click into place, if he's half as well read as I think. He's got the hands of a musician, sure, but I can see the faint signs of paper cuts that suggest he writes and reads quite a lot. Can't be helped, but I can at least keep him wondering for a while longer "So why exactly are you looking for me?"

"We remember what most don't - that the Dragonborn is the ultimate dragon slayer. You're the only one who can kill a dragon permanently by devouring its soul." I fix him with a hard glare. "Can you do it? Can you devour a dragon's soul?"

He shuffles uncomfortably, averting his eyes. "I… absorb some kind of power from dragons. That's all I can say. It's not as if I was gifted an instruction manual. The Greybeards have yet to instruct me, since someone stole the Horn from Ustengrav."

"This is no time to play the reluctant hero. You either are or aren't Dragonborn. But I'll see for myself soon enough."

"Will you? What's this part that you aren't telling me?"

Too sharp. "Farengar said you'd guessed at it, so let me confirm your suspicions. Dragons aren't just coming back; they're coming back to life. They weren't gone somewhere for all these years. They were dead, killed centuries ago by my predecessors. Now, something's happening to bring them back to life. And I need you to help me stop it."

"You know how crazy this all sound, aye?"

He states it as fact rather than disbelief, and I can't help but give a mirthless chuckle. "A few years ago I said almost the same thing to a colleague of mine. Well, it turned out he was right, and I was wrong."

He stands up awkwardly, making his way around the table. "You have proof?"

"Yes. I've visited the ancient burial mounds and found them empty. And I've figured out where the next one will come back to life - at least the next one we'll be able to reach in time. We're going to go there, and we're going to kill that dragon. If we succeed, I'll tell you anything you want to know."

"So, where are we headed?"

"Kynesgrove," I say, pointing it out on the copy of the Dragonstone I had Farengar make. "The pattern is pretty clear. It seems to be spreading from the Southeast, down in the Jeralls near Riften. The one at Kynesgrove is next if the pattern holds. If we can get there before it happens, maybe we'll learn how to stop it."

Again, the pained look on his face. "There's much about this I dislike. Would I had the time to return to the Greybeards, but… you're right. Knowledge is power, if nothing else. And Kynesgrove is too far from Windhelm to expect reinforcements in time if it's attacked. But I will have those answers from you after this. Shall we?"

I nod. "I need to get into my travelling gear. Give me a minute and I'll be ready. Wait for me upstairs." He nods back and stumps up the stairs, as I head to my gearbox. Thankfully, the drills I hated so much decades ago are imprinted into my muscles and it takes me scant minutes to don my leathers. I go to grab my curved sword before I stop the reflex. Soon. But not yet. No reason to give the barest hint to the Thalmor of my presence. I replace it and grab an Elven short sword - a trophy from a Thalmor assassin I took care of some years ago - finish packing my camping set and some rations for if we have bad luck game hunting, and make my way upstairs where Talao is waiting. "Orgnar. I'm travelling. You've got the inn 'til I get back."

"Right. Happy trails." Nothing phases him, its maddening in its own way. We leave the building into a pleasant sunny afternoon. Frankly I think that's more ominous than a rainy start, considering our endeavour.

I turn to Talao, and gesture down the road. "Better to stick together. I don't want you to get yourself killed before we even get there."

"I don't suppose you'd rather take a carriage to Windhelm, would you?" I give him another glare even as I start walking. "I was joking! It's going to be a long walk, thought I'd start with some levity."

And like that, Talao and I head out for Kynesgrove. With any luck, it'll be a quiet trip until we arrive.