The sun was already a hands-breadth above the mountains when Faendal and I exited Embershard Mine. We were both quite tired and kept our thoughts to ourselves while we trudged back to Riverwood.
For my part, I was troubled by how easy the fight had been. I had a huge dent in my armor to prove it hadn't been without its dangers, but compared to my assault on the bandit camp a few nights ago none of my opponents had presented a serious challenge. The woman with the warhammer had the air of a commander, but her equipment amounted to a crude weapon and mere furs for protection. I could not believe that she was the bandit leader.
Perhaps he... or she, fully a third of the bandits I'd killed in this land had been women, I reflected... had fled the mine or been away on business elsewhere. I paused for a moment and cracked my neck and then put it out of my mind: the mine was clear. Even if the leader hadn't been among the dead, his or her gang was destroyed, the operation ruined.
When we came to the village, I thanked Faendal for his help and handed him a small bag of gold coins. He tried to refuse, but I insisted it was his share of the loot. He thanked me and retired to his home.
I sold the weapons, ore, and paltry armor we'd carried back to Alvor and left him my armor to repair. He thanked me profusely, but I'd noticed the way he'd shooed his daughter inside when I approached.
Somehow, in helping these people I'd lost their trust.
Just after midday I entered the Sleeping Giant Inn and handed over ten coins for my regular room. Sven glared at me from a corner the whole time, but I didn't have a clue what the bard was upset about and I was too exhausted to care. I shut the door to my room, peeled off my armor, and was asleep before I could even lie all the way down.
I was standing in a field of wild flowers, a great sea of blues and oranges and reds gently undulating in the breeze. Mountains towered all around me and there was a chill in the air. The sweet smell of nectar met my nose as I inhaled deeply when there was a mighty roar and a great golden and fiery wyrm dove down upon me. I shrank in fear, collapsing into a huddle, knowing that it was useless to run, my only thought being to wonder if death by wyrm-fire was good enough for Valhalla when suddenly the wyrm crashed into the ground before me and transformed into the Dragon-man from Vinland.
He looked down upon me with contempt - I think, how do you read the face of a dragon? - and bellowed, "Rise, mortal son."
I rose.
He continued, anger in his voice, "I did not bring you here to be the despised champion of an insignificant village. You have a destiny, why do you tarry?"
I opened my mouth to respond, but my tongue was too dry to speak; the heat rolling off of the Dragon-man was parching and the flowers around us were wilting.
In the face of my silence he grew angrier still, and smoke curled from his mouth as he shouted, "FIND YOUR MISGUIDED BROTHER BEFORE ALL IS LOST!" and with a great roar a wall of fire jetted from his mouth towards me...
...and I jolted awake, covered in sweat. I was in my room in The Sleeping Giant and the first rays of the dawn were creeping through the windows. I heaved a sigh of relief and took a deep, steadying breath... and choked on the smell of burnt hair.
I had a new scorched and hairless look from neck to toes.
A nearby pitcher of water soon found itself poured all over me, and I stood in the dim light of my room shivering from the cold ... and fear.
What was I supposed to do now?
