The Return of the Dragonborn, Chapter Two: Not Good Enough

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

  The Return of the Dragonborn

  Chapter Two: Not Good Enough

       Once breakfast was finally finished, I pulled out my chair and stood. "Faendal," I called to the kitchen. The wine was working it's way out of my system, and I needed to get moving. "I'm going out hunting. If I'm not back by sundown, I've probably been eaten or died of old age, don't bother searching for the body."

  I heard laughter from the kitchen. "Anything dumb enough to think you look tasty is no threat to you."

  "Shut up. I'm headed out." I left the foyer, headed into the entryway. Or, as Faendal liked to call it, the War Room. The walls were lined with weapons, trophies from too many victories to count. I looked at one in particular.
  Ebony Mace. Used by the Blackfoot Bandit of Haafingar. Killed him with his own dagger. 
  No. Too... poetic.
  "Alduin's Tooth." Made from the bones of dragons, can steal souls and burns flesh on contact.
  Too easy.
  Angi's Bow. Wooden bow, total shit. Would probably break if I pulled too hard. Gift from a strange woman I met in the mountains who thought me how to shoot.
  Perfect.

  I grabbed the bow off of the rack and went outdoors. I was immediately greeted by the sight that also hadn't changed in fifteen years: a dirt path, cutting through the forest and leading directly to my house. Nearby was the garden. Most of the plants were thriving despite the bitter weather, in no small part due to a certain ritual I learned in a not-so-common village that never had a poor harvest. I don't know what the ritual pleases, and I don't want to know. To be honest, I doubt that old coot in the village knew either.

  I went over to the stable, which held three horses. They were all stallions, and all of them cost almost twice as much as normal. I chose my favorite of the three, Graywind. He was strong, fast, and had carried home more elk meat than the entire population of Riverwood. I stroked his mane. "Hey, old boy. I'm in an adventurous mood today." I led him out of his stable and into the clearing, and got into the saddle. "Come on, boy, let's go for a hunt."

  *******

       When you get as old as me, you learn that there are few things as beautiful as an arrow in flight. The way it spins, glides, and the sound as it hits its mark. I watched the whole scene unfold as my arrow hit the deer, in the base of the neck. After a sharp crack of it breaking, the thing went down. Good shot, clean. Just the right spot.
  Not bad, old man. Not bad at all.
  I slowly slid off of Graywind, and walked over to the body. Just over a hill, the damn thing had tumbled down. After a painful trek down the hill, I inspected the creature. It was a large, powerful buck, I couldn't understand how it had gone down so easily. But then I noticed its hooves were dull, and its fur was gray, and it had plenty of old wounds from many fights. No wonder it had been such an easy target; the thing was too old to be of any use in a chase.

  "I know the feeling, old man." I told the corpse. "At least you died a good death." I turned my head back. "Graywind!" Dumb as horses can be, he had always come when his name was called, just like that Alik'r horse salesman promised.

  "Graywind!" I called again. No sound of clopping. No whinny. Something was wrong.
  I readied my bow, and turned. I had never been one of those sneaky bastards, but when you hunt as often as I do, you learn to be quiet. 

  I climbed the hill silently, ignoring the aches in my knees. I was slow. Too slow. When I finally reached the top, I had to choke back my anger.

  Three. Three men, armed with steel blades, dressed in leather and furs. Standing over the corpse of a horse that cost more than they did. They were bickering.
  "Come on, did yer parents cut your parts off when you were born or did they wait?"
  "Shuddup, Brenun! I'm just sayin', we didn't have to kill the poor thing."
  "It'll be good dinner. Look at that beast!"
  I finally decided to intervene. "Yes, look at it. It probably cost more than your mother in bed, but I doubt that says much."

  The bandits looked at me, Jorhan Sky-Toucher, the man who had made bandit lords run away, crying for their lives, the Scale-Breaker-

  And they laughed at me.

  No, they laughed at the old man with the shit wooden bow, who had insulted their mothers.

  "You're a funny old man, you are. So, you wanna give us our gold, or are we gonna have to get it ourselves?" The loud one, with a shaved head, drew his sword. An old iron pigsticker, was he serious? 
  "Come on, old man, there's three of us. You know how this ends." The other two armed themselves as well, and the shaved-headed one stepped forward, pigsticker ready.

  They were right; three men, in their prime, ruthless, ready to kill. Dying at the hands of a bandit mob, defending my honor. It would be a good death, for sure.
  "You want my gold, then, kid?" I grinned. "Come and get it."

  The bandit laughed at me. "You have lived long enough, haven't ya?" He charged at me, and watched eagerly as his blade swung down.

  What he wasn't watching was my hand reach into my belt, and pulling out a short  dagger. What he definitely saw was the dagger catching his sword. He stared at me, surprised by my speed.

  Yes, dying to a cruel mob of bandits would be a good death.

  "But not good enough." I told the bandit, before I began the worst five minutes of his life.

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