The Return of the Dragonborn
Chapter Four: A Ghost in Whiterun
Nine days after the bandit incident
I've never liked carriage rides. Slow. Rickety. The chatty drivers. I only use it when there is absolutely no alternative.
And today, there wasn't.
I had to send for a carriage to come to my home from Whiterun, and ferry me back to it, through a back road. It was going to cost extra, and it would be slow, but it was worth avoiding Riverwood. Those damn villagers would never just let me be.
"It's a lovely day, it is." The driver said in a cheerful tone, trying to get me to open up. "Clear skies. Lotsa birds. What's yer business in Whiterun?"
I groaned. It looked like I was going to have to engage in the forgotten art of chit-chat. "I've got a gift for a friend. It's his birth-day." I held aloft a long, wooden box. It had cost 5,000 septims to acquire, but the Old Jarl had said time and time again how much he wanted one. And I had no shortage of wealth.
"Ah. A weapon, no doubt!" The driver laughed. "No Nord man should expect less."
I smirked; he wasn't wrong.
Soon, the walls of Whiterun came into view. The city had certainly aged better than myself. Those stone walls stood as proudly as they did when I first saw them, with only a few scorch marks from the many, many dragon attacks, most of which I had fought against. The memory made me smile.
I stepped out of the carriage, box in hand, and made my way across the drawbridge up to the gate. The guards didn't even stop me; what harm could an old, grizzled man be to the City that Held the Dragon? None. None at all.
I stepped through the wooden doors and I was greeted by a sight I had seen so many times - Warmaiden, the best smithy in Skyrim, Grey-Manes be damned. Adrienne wasn't out, but the irons were still glowing white. Perhaps I'd see her.
As I walked through the town, I enjoyed seeing all the familiar sights. The market was bustling, from Mina Valentina, the daughter of a merchant, to old Fralia, still marching on. She had been old as long as I had known her, but she had refused to die just yet. I hope to one day hate something as much as she hates the idea of keeling over. No one seemed to recognize me. No matter - I wasn't here to see them.
I made my way through town, until I approached the stairs to Dragonsreach. I hesitated; those stairs that I used to climb so easily looked nigh impossible now. My knees were aching as it was, I might need to...
Oh, come ON Jorhan! I yelled at myself mentally. You've outran entire platoons of guards in that heavy armor, and you're scared of some stairs?
I took a deep breath and started climbing. I'd tell you it was nothing, but that's a lie. It was agony, like hauling bricks with a dagger in your calf. I swear, they added more stairs since last time. But I made it. I looked down at the stairs. I'd have to walk back down them. I was ready. I turned to face the keep, as intimidating as ever, and I almost didn't hear it.
"Come on, milk-drinkers!" A woman's voice barked. "You call that a parry?"
My eyes widened. I hadn't heard that voice in fifteen years. Without missing a beat, I turned and walked towards the clang of weapons. I came across a crowd of men in the colors of Whiterun, circled around two men dueling (rather poorly, I might add) in front of the Loyal-Steed herself.
"Pardon me, ma'am." I called. "Do I recognize that bitching, or am I mistaken?"
Her eyes wavered for a moment, as she processed what stood before her. In that moment, her stern, stone face went through at least five emotions that I could see. Then she broke out into the rarest thing I'd ever seen on that face: a smile.
"Shor's bones!" She said, striding over. "We've got a ghost in Whiterun!" Despite her usual smarm, I could see something in her eyes. Hope, after a long, long absence of it.
"Not dead yet, Loyal-Steed." I replied. She'd gotten that nickname after a particularly memorable encounter with a sabrecat that ended with her carrying me back to Whiterun, armor and all.
"Yet." She echoed, and waved at her trainees. "Men, as you were. Boys, stop embarrassing yourselves and put up the weapons." That last remark earned a chorus of laughter from the men. She turned to face me again. "What brings you into Whiterun, Sky-Toucher?"
"The Jarl's birth-day." I explained, holding up my gift. "Had to get him a gift."
The Captain's brow furrowed. "Jarl Frothar's name day is-"
"The other Jarl." I interrupted.
She nodded. "He should be getting ready for breakfast. He always asks me 'Housecarl, where is your Thane? He's late for the meeting as always!'" She said, mimicking the old man. It earned a laugh from me.
"Of 'course. You'll join, I take it?"
"Aye. Just need some time with the trainees, is all."
"I'll leave ya to it." I turned and started making my way back.
"Jorhan!" She called. I turned, raising an eyebrow.
Her expression became one of sincerity. "You know I'm sorry. I would have been there, I was going to be there, but Balgruuf wouldn't let me-"
"Lydia." I stopped her. "It isn't your fault. You survived, there's no shame in that. You were lucky to survive where others didn't."
"You sure about that?"
(Holy mother of Akatosh, this was one long hiatus. I never meant to take such a long break, but things happen. I can't guarantee that it won't happen again, but thank you all so much for the patience! Keep on shoutin'!)
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