The Return of the Dragonborn, Chapter One: What They Don't Tell You

• Posted by Not-Always Lost January 5, 2016 - 998 views

  The Return of the Dragonborn

  Chapter One: What They Don't Tell You

  They say you always remember the first thing you killed. And that's true.

  What they don't tell you, is that you remember all the others too.

  I jolted awake in my bed, and got the standard greeting- aches and pains, in scars long healed and joints overused.

  Weak, beaten old man. I scolded myself. By next winter you'll need Faendal to watch you piss so you don't fall over at this rate.

  
  After what felt like an hour, I lifted myself up from my sheets, eyes taking in the room that had never changed in fifteen years; Meeko was fast asleep at the foot of my bed, my dresser to the left, and my bookcase to the right. The door was directly ahead. I pulled the fur covers off of myself, put my feet on the floor and, after a long debate with my knees, stood up. I walked over to my dresser, pulling out whatever garb looked presentable enough. My hands searched, and paused over a shirt of mail, melted and torn beyond repair.

  23rd of Hearthfire, Year 201 of the Fourth Era. Mirmulnir, Allegiance strong hunter.

  I kept looking. It would take more than a little work before that mail saved anyone else's life. Maybe I'd give it to one of those damn hopefuls, always coming to me for "guidance..."

  No. What would be the point?

  I finally decided on a pair of tan trousers and a rough green tunic. It would do. I threw on my boots, and looked at the weathered old mutt at the foot of my bed. He was old, older than most dogs left to die alone in the woods. His fur was matted from age, his sight was failing, and he had scars all across his body. He was in no shape to hunt, fight, or even be a lad's companion.

  That scarred, ragged hound also happened to be my only friend in all of Nirn that was still alive.

  "Meeko, up and about, boy!" I called with a whistle. Immediately, his ears lifted, and his head rose from between his paws. He looked at me with those smiling eyes he'd always had, as if it was still our first day together. Meeko was never a very bright dog, but I'd always admired his unbreakable spirit. Tamriel needed more of that.

  As Meeko slowly crawled off of the bed, I opened the doors, and surveyed my foyer. Any other man would have called it a mansion, with it's well-lit dining room, the warm fire, high ceilings with chandeliers and sabrecat skin rugs. It's many windows provided a glorious view of the nearby Lake Ilinalta, and the forests outside were a hunter's dream.

  For me, it was a prison. A filthy cell for pampered fops to curl up and die in.

  Fitting as ever.

  I went over to the kitchen, and found a loaf of bread, with a few apples. The bread was still warm, and the apples were fresh. Faendal had been busy. Good man, that elf. Damn good man.

  As I sat down at the table, already halfway through breakfast, I realized what was missing.

  "Faendal!" I said as loudly as necessary. No need bringing the roof down.
  The elf's head popped out from his quarters' entryway. "Well, I see you're up, Jorhan."

  I scoffed. "Hand me the key to the wine cellar, Faen."

  He grinned, ears flicking back like they did when he was feeling confident. "Terribly sorry sir, but according to your healer, you need to cut down your wine intake by-"

  "To Oblivion with whatever Avriel said!" I interrupted, ignoring that he was simply telling me what I'd told him to tell me. "I had some rough dreams, Faen. I need it today."

  The Bosmer pursed his lips. "Was it about..?"

  I opened my mouth to tell him what a stupid question he was about to ask, but all that came out was, "Yes, Faendal. It was."
  After a difficult silence, he started to the cellar. "I'll get the Cyrodilian batch."

  I shook my head, playing out the impossible conversation that went through my head every time I got a mug of ale or a flask of wine.
  "Jorhan," My mother would scold, "No good man ever touched that damned liquid. Why should you?"
  "Because it makes it easier." I replied to myself silently as Faendal handed me a bottle of my favorite wine.
  "Makes what easier?" She asked without exception.
  "Not going into that locked armory below the house and putting on the armor again." I replied without exception.
  They say you always remember the first person you killed. And that's true.
  "Orc. Brown, grungy hair. Chipped fang..."

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