The Return of the Dragonborn, Chapter Three: Unworthy

• Posted by Not-Always Lost January 6, 2016 - 1,103 views

  The Return of the Dragonborn

  Chapter Three: Unworthy

       The bandits just sort of stood there for a minute. They seemed shocked that a feeble old man with a dagger could stop that blade. The one who I had blocked looked at me, and sneered.

  "Oh, looks like the old man has some fight left after all!" He snarled at me, and I could feel him pushing his sword down harder.

  I kept a straight face at him, and held his blade away from my face. Inside, I was scolding myself, as I was actually beginning to struggle to keep him back. I looked down at his legs, and an old-but-effective method instantly came to mind. I focused on the word, a favorite of mine, felt it rising within me.
  "Fus..." I said as quietly as I could. 
  And at that moment, when I could have turned those men into pulp, I stopped.
  No, I reminded myself. he's not worth it.

  It seemed, however, they were going to spare me the trouble. One of his friends, a Dunmer, charged me from the side.
  Smart tactic. Might even work...
  I stepped back, and he stumbled forward before he could redirect.
  If I was a little older.

  I kicked him in the ribs, feeling them crack under my foot. The elf cried out, falling into his comrade and dropping his sword.
  Worst mistake you made all day, Gray-Skin.

  I lifted his blade off of the ground. It was poorly made, had terrible balance, and the finesse of a mongoloid horker on skooma. But it had a sharp end, it would be more than enough to deal with this rabble.

  I was so busy inspecting the sword, I had forgotten where I was; I was reminded by a sharp pain in my shoulder. I jerked my head around, and I was face-to-face with the third bandit, a Breton with the frame of a stick. He was holding an axe he clearly didn't know how to wield. I turned to face him, holding out the sword of his friends, who were stumbling to get up.
  "Run now and live. Run later and I'll have a very interesting hunt." I'd seen his type before- he had been hoping to take me down with a lucky blow, and take some credit.
  I had guessed right; the boy turned and ran with his tail between his legs.
  I turned to the other two, who had finally gotten back up. The Gray-Skin was holding a small, hooked knife. Must have been hiding it. "So, I hope you two have less brains than your friend."
  "What do you-" the Dunmer turned his head to see the boy running. "Oi! You little n'wah! Get back here!" He snarled at the fleeting sight. "Little shit, couldn't kill an old geezer. Once you're dead, he's next!"

  The Elf and his Nord friend charged me at the same time. I had to admire the Dunmer's courage, rushing into battle with just his spare knife and a broken rib. Unfortunately, as I've learned, injuries do not grant that much more caution in the hearts of fools. He tried to stab me in the gut, and I anticipated it. I easily sidestepped and slashed the blade. The knife went to the ground... and so did the elf's hand.

  He bent over screaming, holding his stump. The Nord looked at his friend, and then at me. "You old bastard! That was one of our best fighters!"
  He was one of your best? I thought.
  "Come on, son, make me pay."

  When I was a lad, I had always hated the belief that all Nords are hard-headed, over-courageous morons. Looking back, I can see how one could come to that conclusion.

  The Nord ran forward, slashing wildly at me. I had to give him credit, he was the most capable of his group. He was fast and angry, and I was having more and more trouble staying out of his reach.
  Slow old man. I scolded. Evading this idiot by a hair.

  The bandit was so busy, he failed to see the legs of the horse who had caused this ruckus. He stumbled, and started to fall forward. 
  "Don't worry," I told him. I thrust my sword outwards, and heard a short gasp as it impaled him. Judging by where I had stabbed, and the blood running from his lips, I had hit a lung. "I broke your fall."

  The handless Dunmer looked at me in horror. "W-who... what in Oblivion are you?!"
  I grinned. Have I mentioned how much I love that question?
  "Me?" I walked over, sword dripping with the blood of his friend. "I'm just an old man who paid too much for a horse, and doesn't like to be strong-armed." I raised the blade, and swung it at his neck. I relished his squeal of panic before I stopped the blade on the other side, and watched his head fall to the ground, face still flinching. Milk-Drinker.

  I swore under my breath at the mess of blood, the body of my favorite horse, and the steady pain in my arm. "Well, this isn't how I thought today was going to go."

  *******

       "Ow, dammit Faendal! It's nothing!" I said as he treated the cut that the cowardly Breton had made.
  "That's what you said about the eighteen wolf bites!"
  "I was fine!"
  "After being unconscious for two days straight, with Erandur at your side."

  I scoffed as he finished wrapping up the cut. It had gotten deeper than I originally thought, and probably would have festered soon.

  Faendal wiped my blood off of his hands. "Hey, Jorhan, I need to ask you something."

  "And I may not need to answer." I stood and rolled my shoulders. It would be fine.

  "You just singlehandedly took down three bandits with nothing but a little flesh wound."

  Here we go again.

  "But you still refuse to even look at that armo-"

  I turned away. "Don't you dare suggest it, Faendal. Or so help me Stendarr, I will rip those ridiculous ears right off your head!"

  He stepped back. "Of course, you say that every time. But why?"

  "Faendal, you know why. You were there at Solitude. You saw what happened, because of me. Because I was too careless."

  He was silent. "It's not your fault. No one blames you. And none of them would. Not J'Zhargo, not Uthgerd, and certainly not Ser-"

  Before he could even react, I had a fist clenched onto his shirt. "Don't you dare presume to know the first thing about what she would want!" There was a low rumble behind my voice; I needed to calm down, or the wall would go away along with Faendal's upper body.

  "I'm... I'm sorry." I released him. "But you need to understand, Faen. I don't avoid the armor because I'm not able. I avoid it because I'm unworthy of that armor. Of those blades, that bow. And to be honest?" I took a deep breath, looking down at my aged, scarred body. "Sometimes I wonder if I ever really was."

  Table of Contents