Chapter 25: Greybeards.
The echo of the word still lingered in the fiber of the wooden palace like a termite, refusing to leave—Dovahkiin. After the shaking ceased and the heavy silence returned, it was Jarl Balgruuf who finally broke it, his voice low but weighty, as if naming a force of nature.
"Greybeards." He murmured, almost to himself, like the word had been plucked from a childhood tale but now stood breathing in his hall.
For a few moments, no one spoke, even I was surprised at the power of the voice, what I did at the western watchtower was nowhere near that.
But it also meant I could reach it.
The court was still unsteady, the guards gripping their swords and spears as if the ground they stood on could vanish any moment. Proventus put one of his hands on the other, trying to calm the shaking.
Then Balgruuf straightened in his throne, shaking the reverie from his face, and looked to Irileth. "Tell me what happened at the watchtower," he asked, a measured concern on his face, trying to understand what had just threatened his Hold.
Irileth nodded once, stepping forward. "The watchtower was destroyed, along with half of us…" She paused, a frown on her face which she quickly got rid of, "We held the line. Barely. But the Dragon's dead… he," she motioned toward me without taking her eyes off the Jarl.
"He killed it… alone." She said, the implication was a serious one, coming from Irileth, who doesn't like exaggerations, it hit the court like a dropped blade.
But that wasn't the main concern to Balgruuf, "But there must be more to it than that?" he asked, as if he already knew.
Irileth opened her mouth to say something, but stopped, gesturing me to step forward, "I think he can explain it better than I."
I stepped forward and began, "When the dragon died, I absorbed some kind of power from it."
The Jarl exhaled, his eyes locked on me, his expression unreadable, "So you're the one they are summoning," he said, more of a realization than a question.
I gave him a short nod, my hands resting loosely at my sides. "I guess so."
A beat passed.
"I guess so?" a scoffing voice broke in, from the least expected man, sharp and laced with disbelief. Proventus, always eager to defend order and hierarchy, stepped forward with that ever-present air of smug skepticism. "My Jarl, with all due respect. Capable as he may be, I don't see any signs of him being this, what, 'Dragonborn'."
I chuckled at his antics, "Of course you don't. You're blind to everything that comes without a sigil."
He scoffed again, "Well, yes, Legends are born out of ego. A man who sees himself in one is just reciting Nord nonsense."
Before I could say anything, a voice cracked, echoing in the courtroom with anger and frustration.
"Nord nonsense? Why you puffed-up ignorant—" Hrongar, the Jarl's younger brother, yelled from the gallery on the right, his face flushed with indignation. "These are our sacred traditions, damn it! They go back to the founding of the First Empire! Do you think Greybeards just shout to anyone? That's the Voice of Kynareth, you milk-drinker!"
Gasps and mutters circled, as Farengar, who had finally decided to exit his chamber, was barely able to hold in his laughter; the same could be said about me.
Thanks, Hrongar, but I'm not done with this baldy! I shook my head.
Proventus looked as if he'd swallowed a bee, but he held his tongue, his pride visibly wounded. Balgruuf raised a hand. Steady and calm, used to the two's bickering, "Enough, both of you."
The room fell quiet again.
"Proventus serves the people of Whiterun well," Balgruuf continued, "But he is unfamiliar with our traditions. Proventus, your caution is noted, but so too must we respect the wisdom of our own history. The Greybeards do not speak without purpose. And they never call for someone, unless they're certain."
Hrongar scoffed, vanishing into the shadow of the gallery.
"I mean no disrespect, of course," Proventus continued, trying to clear his name. "But what do the Greybeards want with him?"
"That's the Greybeards' business, not ours." Balgruuf simply said and turned to me, "Whatever happened when you killed that dragon, it revealed something in you, and the Greybeards heard it…" He continued. "If they think you're Dragonborn, who are we to argue?" He scoffed, directing it at Proventus.
"You'd better get up to High Hrothgar. There's no refusing the summons of the Greybeards. It's a tremendous honor." He said, as his mood turned nostalgic.
"You know, I envy you. To climb the 7000 Steps again… I made the pilgrimage once… High Hrothgar is a very peaceful place. Very disconnected from the troubles of this world—" he suddenly paused, realizing he's been blabbering.
It wouldn't be long before you have to climb the 7000 steps again, I thought.
"Ahem! No matter. You should go to High Hrothgar. Learn what the Greybeards can teach you." He said.
I nodded quietly.
The Jarl leaned back in his chair, thoughtful. "Take the road to Ivarstead, the path is long and not without danger—but for a man who felled a dragon?" Balgruuf chuckled. "It should be a walk among the clouds."
Ahem~
All eyes turned toward the source of the sound. Farengar, who stood beside the grand dining table, arms crossed, observing everyone in the room. "Ahem~ If I may," he began, "What happened to the beast's corpse?"
I glanced at him, then shrugged. "It's flesh disintegrated. Only the bones were left behind."
Farengar's brow furrowed slightly, not in confusion, just slight disappointment, of a scholar losing his curiosity to a dull answer. "I see, a shame… I had hoped to study the creature in full."
He paused, then added under his breath, "I've studied dragon bones before, but it would be great to learn what makes this one different from the rest."
Farengar had studied dragon skeletons before; the proof of that hung behind Jarl's throne, the skull of a dragon, with its jaw open, dangled on the wall behind him.
"The bones will do just fine," Farengar muttered.
I cleared my throat in embarrassment, and everyone understood what that meant. Farengar sighed.
A moment passed.
I extended my arm forward, drawing the dragon skull from my inventory, "I can spare this. I don't need it for what I'm making."
Farnegar blinked slowly, then stepped forward to receive it. He handled the skull like a sacred relic, studying the contours and the faint scorches that remained etched near its left eye socket.
"This… It's more than enough."
Balgruuf's eye narrowed. "What do you plan to make with the rest of its bones?" I turned to him, and before I could answer, a slow clapping echoed from the stairs next to the throne.
Heavy boots followed, descending the stone steps like a drumbeat. All eyes turned as Hrongar descended. He wore an unscathed leather armor, and a greatsword hung on his back.
He walked with the confidence of an arrogant man.
"Well then," Hrongar said, his voice rough but not unkind, betraying his demeanor. "We have a man who slays dragons and turns their skulls into housewarming gifts."
He stopped beside Farengar, giving the skull in his hands a nod of approval before glancing up at me. There was no challenge in his eyes.
"I don't think there's any debate left, brother," he said to Balgruuf. "This one deserves more than thanks. A grand feat should earn a grand prize."
Balgruuf studied his brother for a moment, thoughtful.
Hrongar turned back to me. "You'll leave for High Hrothgar in the morning. But not before we celebrate the first man to slay a dragon in—what?—a couple millennia?"
Hrongar looked at me with a smug look on his face, "Rest for now, Dragonborn."
He turned toward Irileth, "Housecarl. Show him to his room."
Irileth nodded and gestured for me to follow her.
It's been a long day, I can use some rest. I yawned as I followed after Irileth.
****
Read +3 or +5 chapters ahead on my Pat*eon
First_Endless