Chapter 26

Chapter 26

     “Dragonborn General?” a voice asked from the entrance to the tent.

     Upon the dramatic entrance of the dragons, obviously everyone who hadn’t already known I was Dragonborn had immediately realized that very fact.  I had already resigned myself to it as unavoidable before Odahviing had returned from scouting, but the looks that spoke partially of fear and partially of admiration that followed me everywhere I went were still rather annoying.  Worse still than the looks, however, was the way suddenly no one knew what to call me.  I was their general, and yet I was also the revered Dragonborn.  So what did they do?  Well, combine the two into Dragonborn General, of course. 

     In fact, why not mash all my titles together?  Dragonborn General Guildmaster.  It had a kind of nice ring to it.  Well, it did right now, anyway.  I had no doubt that later it would annoy me to no end, but at the moment I was so tired that not much seemed to matter.  I had caught only a few hours of sleep and even now it was still early morning.

     “What is it?” I turned to see a slightly confused looking soldier standing just inside the tent flap.  Probably he didn’t even know what to call me. 

     “The Harbinger would like to speak with you, sir.” 

     The Harbinger herself shouldered the man out of the way as she entered the tent without waiting for me to respond.  The soldier took the opportunity and vanished from view. 

     Cerawyn placed her hands on the table and stared at the blue flag denoting the location of Whiterun for a moment.  When she finally spoke her words came slowly and carefully.  “It seems you have once more been withholding information from me.”

     “Not just you,” I pointed out.  “I didn’t want to advertise my identity as the Dragonborn.”

     “Perhaps not just me, but Jarl Vignar and many of the captains knew.”  She continued to study the same blue flag.

     “Most of the soldiers didn’t.”  Even as I spoke the words I winced inwardly.  That had been entirely the wrong thing to say.

     Cerawyn looked up from the map, fixing me with a piercing stare.  “Are you equating the title of Harbinger to that of a common soldier?”

     “No, that’s not what I meant at all,” I said, frustrated with my poor choice of words.  “The Jarl and the captains already knew.  I hadn’t spoken of it to anyone who didn’t, including the soldiers, and it didn’t seem like something that merited discussion.”

     “I suppose that inviting dragons into the camp also wasn’t something that merited discussion?” she asked, the steel in her voice now clearly audible and sharper than my Daedric sword.

     Was that what she was so angry about?  I had thought she had come here to berate me for not being honest about who I was, not about my decision to accept the dragons’ offer of assistance.  She was blowing both way out of proportion either way.  Sure, Jarl Vignar had had many choice words for me about inviting dragons to live right next to his city, but he had eventually accepted that we needed them to fight and he had never been this riled about it.

     Come to think of it, I had never seen Cerawyn riled up about anything.  This outburst seemed very out of character for her.  “I couldn’t just tell them to wait somewhere while I discussed the option with my advisors.  Dragons like decisive, instantaneous action, not political discussion.  Asking them to wait would have been injurious to their relationship with the army.”

     “You decided to forgo discussing the option merely because the dragons would not like it?”

     Well, when she put it that way it sounded kind of bad….  “What else was I supposed to do?” I asked, a bit of heat creeping into my voice.  “We need allies, not enemies, and what better fighting allies to have than dragons?”

     “They can’t be trusted,” she said flatly. 

     She acted as though she knew something about them that I didn’t, which was untenable.  “They want Miraak dead and we want Miraak dead.  As long as our interests coincide, we can at least trust them to fight alongside us.”

     “Yes, Miraak.  That is yet another tale you did not deign to tell me, I believe.”  I had fought ice wraiths warmer than Cerawyn’s voice.  “Is he indeed Dragonborn, as the guards say?”

     “Yes,” I admitted, wondering what else the guards had said.

     “Where did he come from?”

     I hesitated.  “An island called Solstheim off the coast of Skyrim.”

     Cerawyn raised an eyebrow.  “Why would he come here?”

     “There were only a few dragons there, and there are a lot more here.”  I fidgeted a bit.  I needed to get going if I was going to meet Maven.  Speaking of which, I still needed to ask Odahviing if he would actually take me.

     “So you’ve been there, then?”

     She didn’t care much about Miraak, I could tell.  Something else was bothering her or she would have just accepted that the decisions I’d made couldn’t be unmade by this time.  “Cerawyn, what do you really want?”

     “We don’t need dragons to win this fight.  Courage and honor can achieve what numbers cannot,” she insisted.

     “I can see why you’re the Harbinger.”  I failed to entirely keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

     “Scoff if you will, but when they turn on us you’ll have only yourself to blame.”  After this dire prediction Cerawyn swept out of the tent like a receding storm.

     That was sudden.  I wondered for a moment whether I should go after her and try to mend this sudden rift, but I decided against it.  Let her calm down and think first, and then maybe she’d see that an army needed a lot more than honor to win a war.

     Or maybe she wouldn’t.  Most honorable people I’d met didn’t change their minds easily about the subject.

     I shook my head.  Pushing the tent flap aside, I called out to the first soldier who walked by and asked her to inform Jarl Vignar that I needed to speak with him, then withdrew.  When he walked in perhaps ten minutes later I was staring at the map as though I were actually strategizing, even though I had mostly been counting the number of flags over and over.  “Jarl Vignar,” I greeted him politely.  “Thank you for coming so quickly.”

     “Of course,” he replied, also politely, but I could tell common courtesy and not respect prompted him to speak so.  “What can I do for you, General?”

     At least he didn’t lump my titles together.  “I need to make a diplomatic trip to Riften, and in my absence I’m leaving you in charge of the defenses.  I’ll be going by dragon, so I should be back this same evening.”

     “May I enquire into the nature of this… diplomatic visit?” Jarl Vignar asked.  “Perhaps it would be wiser to send one of the captains.”

     “I need handle this myself.  I won’t deny that it may or may not be important, but I need to see to it all the same.”  I didn’t want to mention Maven’s name, not until I knew what she wanted.

     The Jarl nodded and started to leave the tent.  “One more question, Jarl,” I called after him.  He turned back and looked at me questioningly.  “Actually, two.  When did Cerawyn become the Harbinger, and how long has she been with the Companions?”

     Vignar raised his eyebrows.  “The entire province knows the tale.  About a year back bandits attacked Jorrvaskr, stole the pieces of Wuuthrad, Ysgramor’s battleaxe, and….”  His voice shook, and he took a moment to steady himself.  “And slew Kodlak.  Cerawyn had joined the Companions only a few months before that, but the Companions chose her to be their Harbinger.  Why, I’m not sure.  Others in the group have been there much longer than she.”

     “Does she have any family?”  Her family may or may not be relevant to me, but it never hurt to know as much as I could about someone, especially when that person was in a position to affect things I was doing.

     “I believe she has family back in Valenwood,” the Jarl said, starting to sound annoyed.  “Why don’t you just ask her yourself?”

     “Maybe I will.  Thank you, Jarl, and I’ll be back no later than late evening.”  Not my smoothest and most diplomatic dismissal, but Vignar nodded stiffly and left anyway.

     Coming back required that I leave, which still depended on Odahviing’s willingness to help.  Sighing, I checked the swords at my sides, felt around in my pockets to check that I had food and anything else I might need, and headed out into the grey mist of the early morning to seek out the dragon.

     Although not particularly pleased with my request, Odahviing did agree to carry me, but not without a few choice remarks.  “Since you do not eat your horses, I can only assume the beasts are meant for riding.  You would do well to make use of them,” he snorted grumpily as he crouched lower to the ground so I could get on.

     Since I had already explained twice that I needed to reach Riften that day by noon and horses were much slower than dragons, I didn’t bother replying and just got settled on his back between the junction of his wings and neck. 

     He jumped into the air, first making a few circles above the camp to limber up his wings.  Or so I assume.  Every single Stormcloak soldier face was upturned and watching, so he could also just be showing off.

     I had Odahviing drop me off about a mile away from Riften and again walked the rest of the distance to the city.  The Stormcloaks camped outside Whiterun may have somewhat accepted the dragons, but somehow I doubted that acceptance would extend to Riften.

     The guards at the gate, who had been lounging unconcernedly against the gate, stood up and slightly more attentive as I approached.  I had changed into my Nightingale armor and drawn the hood up.  Given a choice between appearing at Riften to talk to Maven as the Dragonborn or a thief, I’d prefer to appear as a thief. 

     “What’s your business in Riften?” one of the guards asked, eyeing me askance. 

     I amused myself by imagining how different his reaction would have been had I shown up in Stormcloak officer regalia with a signed letter from Ulfric.  Instead, I smiled slightly under my hood, knowing they couldn’t see much more than my mouth even in the brightness of midday.  “I think you know what my business is.”  My armor was well-made, too well-made for a common cutthroat, and it was clearly made for stealth. 

     I could practically see the wheels spinning in the guards’ heads.  Clearly I was a thief, and if I was a thief and coming into Riften, I was almost certainly affiliated with the Thieves’ Guild.  Did they dare risk refusing me entry and angering a very influential guild that could make them pay for detaining one of their members?  Not to mention I hadn’t told them for certain that I was a thief, I had just implied it heavily.

     Finally the same one that had challenged me swung the gate open, warning me to stay out of trouble.  For once I entirely intended to do just that, and anyway, trouble might make me late for my chat with Maven.  Which I’m already almost late for, I realized suddenly, looking at the position of the sun.  Speed walking through Riften and across the bridge that spanned the river and led straight to the Bee and the Barb, I pushed the door open.  Talen-Jei gave me a suspicious look as I entered, but I ignored him and ascended the stairs to the second level where I knew Maven would be waiting.

     Sure enough, she was there, sitting nonchalantly and examining a piece of paper.  She looked up as I entered and smiled slightly, the lines on her face barely softening.  “Please, sit down.” 

     I did so, pushing back my hood and allowing myself a smile just as fake.  “Maven Black-Briar.  It’s been a while.”

     “So it has,” she said, eyeing me appraisingly.  “I hear you’ve been busy.”

     “I have, but that’s not what I’m here to talk about,” I stated.  “You wanted to see me?”

     “Straight to business, then,” she said approvingly, laying down the paper.  “I have a problem.  After a little investigation, I discovered my problem was also your problem and figured perhaps we could help each other.”

     “And what problem is that?” I asked blandly, trying not to give anything away.

     “The Imperials,” she said simply.  “I could care less about your political squabbling, but when it affects my business it affects me.  I lost-” She broke off, looking sharply at something behind me.  I turned to see a tall, muscular Nord wearing steel armor standing in the entrance to the small room, looking rather apologetic but determined all the same.  “What is it, Silron?” she asked.

     He eyed me and stepped around the table, leaning down to mutter something in Maven’s ear that I couldn’t quite catch.  “Is there a problem?” I asked mildly.

     Maven waved the Nord away and he left the room.  “Not much, just a little family drama.  Anyway, I was explaining my quarrel with the Imperials.  I lost four shipments of mead to the Imperials this month, and my buyers are beginning to be… rather dissatisfied.  My offer is simple.  You will instruct the East Empire Trading Company to consider the debt settled and inform them that they will receive more mead when they can provide guards for the shipments, and then I will supply the funding necessary to hire Redguard mercenaries from Hammerfell to fight the Imperials.”

     I needed to stop entering into conversations with Maven expecting anything, because no matter how far I opened my mind and how many possibilities I conjured up, she always surprised me.  Mind racing, I decided to play for time while I tried to think.  “That seems rather excessive.  Why not hire guards yourself?”

     “I did, once,” she sniffed, as though offended by the very question.  “One of them turned out to be working with the Imperials and clued them into the caravan’s location so they could apprehend it.  I don’t wish to entrust my merchandise people I can’t trust.  If you end the war, then my shipments won’t need guards and I won’t have to spend the extra money.”

     Money, money, money.  That was all the Black-Briars thought of.  Every single deal they made could be traced back to either political or financial gain.  “Why are you speaking to me about this and not Galmar or Ulfric?” I asked.

     “You may not like me, Kisvar, but you’ve still struck deals with me.  Have I ever broken any of those agreements?  My method of business may not agree with whatever moral code you follow, but I make good on my promises.  The High King and Galmar know little about me apart from my name, but if the Dragonborn presents my offer to them and vouches for me, then just maybe they won’t see it as a wealthy family attempting to snatch more power.”

     I wasn’t entirely convince that Maven wasn’t trying to do just that, but what she said was true.  She had never broken a deal with me, nor one with anyone else as far as I knew.  She was a hard woman to do business with, but she knew the importance of maintaining a good reputation.  “I’ll speak to Ulfric about this and give you an answer, either personally or by courier,” I told her reluctantly.

     The corners of her mouth turned up in a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.  “That’s all I ask.”

     We exchanged a few more pleasantries, then I left the room and descended the stairs.  I thought for a moment about sitting down for a quick drink, but despite the fact that I knew Talen-Jei and his wife, Keerava, would not refuse to serve me, I didn’t feel like dealing with their covertly hatred-filled glances at the moment.  I doubted she would ever forgive me, but I had needed to get her to pay the Thieves’ Guild the money she owed it and threatening her family had been the only way.  She was a stubborn lizard.

     I exited the building and started to walk in the direction of the gate leading out to the stables, but then I paused.  Since I was in Riften already, I ought to stop by the Ragged Flagon and check that things were going smoothly for the Guild.  During these past few weeks I hadn’t been acting much like the Guildmaster, and I wouldn’t have a chance to remedy that until after this Imperial uprising had been dealt with, but I still needed to keep a watch on the place.  Not that I doubted Brynjolf, Delvin, and Vex couldn’t handle anything that would come up, but the younger, newer thieves needed an active Guildmaster to look up to and believe in.  For me, that inspiration had been Brynjolf, despite that Mercer Frey had been Guildmaster at the time.

     I got as far as the secluded part of Riften where the hidden entrance to the Thieves’ Guild was located, then stopped dead.  What if Cynric was there? 

     I stood in paralyzed indecision for a few moments, glaring at the button disguised as a shadowmark that I needed to press in order to reveal the hidden entrance to the Guild.  Suddenly as I watched there was grinding sound and the whole tombstone began to move.  Without thinking and slipped around the other side of the small crypt.

     Footsteps sounded on the ladder rungs, then Sapphire emerged from the stone building, cast a glance to her left, then walked off in the direction of the Bee and Barb.  I breathed out a small sigh of relief.  Or was it disappointment?  I wasn’t sure.  If it had been Cynric I could have just sheathed a sword in his back and made my life infinitely less complicated.

     I was Guildmaster, and if I chose to kill Cynric no one would actively try to stop me.  His death would satisfy me and I had no qualms about killing him, but there were other complications that would arise if I did.  Very few people in the Guild knew what he had done to deserve death in my eyes, and what was I supposed to tell them?  That I had killed him because he had killed a member of the Summerset Shadows, a guild known through the Thieves’ Guild as a dangerous rival?  That she had first betrayed me to them, then helped me escape because her conscience forced her?  Neither of those would sound like valid, sensible reasons to kill the best jail breaker in the Guild. 

     The truth of the matter was that Cynric had wronged me, not the Guild itself.  If I insisted on killing him to appease my personal vendetta, it could possibly turn the Guild against me.  I was a trusted member of the Guild and a respected Guildmaster, but even this long after Mercer the thieves were still somewhat on edge. 

     I leaned against the wall of the crypt, staring at a blue mountain flower with a glare that probably should have caught the delicate petals on fire.  I just didn’t know what to do.  I couldn’t kill Cynric, but I certainly couldn’t go on the way I had before Aetra if he was around.  I tried to imagine sitting at a table in the Ragged Flagon, discussing business with Delvin and knowing that the man who had killed her was less than fifty feet away.  No, something would have to be done.

     Something would have to be done, but not today.  I had a war to fight, and right now Cynric was the last problem I needed to put my mind to.  Brynjolf could handle the Guild, and I didn’t need the stress right now.

     I headed away from the secret entrance and back toward the marketplace in the center.  At least while I was here I could check and see if I needed anything, so I reached into my pockets and felt around.  My gloved hand hit something crumbly, and wrinkling my brow in curiosity, I pulled it out to see what it was.  Flipping the piece of paper over, I took one look at it, then felt like the guiltiest of villains.

     Somehow during this whole thing I had completely forgotten about my mental vow to retrieve Mirjoln’s daughter from the orphanage.  I had meant to come after finding the dragon in the caves beneath Dawnstar, but then the whole business with the Summerset Shadows had happened and afterward I had needed to go immediately to Whiterun. 

     Well, now I was here.  I figured Grelod the Kind would need a bit of… persuasion, to relinquish one of her slaves, so I should be the one to retrieve the child.  I could leave her at the Snow-Shod Manor with Nura and then have Lydia come to fetch her, because clearly she couldn’t ride back to Whiterun with me on Odahviing.  She could stay in Breezehome with Lydia for the time being until I could find a proper family for her.

     I turned away from the market and walked along the wooden path over the river until I reached the door of the orphanage.  Bracing myself, I opened it and moved inside, shutting it more carefully than was necessary. 

     A grey-haired woman stood with her back to me, facing a group of children.  They looked healthy enough, if a bit skinny, but they were frightened down to the smallest among them.  I thought about interrupting but figured that wouldn’t make a great first impression, so I waited for Grelod to finish speaking.

     “Since no one will tell me where the plate is, you will all spend an hour each day scrubbing the floors and walls until someone tells me.  The first child to tell will get one day off,” she snapped, her voice loud and sharp.  “Start now.”  As the children jumped to find buckets and rags the woman turned around sharply to leave, then noticed me.  “What do youwant?” she rapped out, eyeing my outfit distastefully. 

     Perhaps Nightingale armor had not been the best outfit to appear in, but it was too late now.  “I want to adopt a child,” I told her, keeping my voice calm and polite.  The room got quiet as the eyes of every child turned to me even as they worked.

     “Oh you do, do you?  We have a very strict adoption policy here, I should warn you, and to ensure the little ones go to a good family, we have a mandatory fee.”  Her face broke into a smile ten times faker than Maven Black-Briar’s and infinitely more vicious.

     “Whatever you ask, the Stormcloaks can pay,” I said calmly.  The sudden doubt in her expression almost made me smile.

     “What’s this about the Stormcloaks?” she asked.

     “I’m a general in the Stormcloak army, here in Riften on important business.  Recently a friend of mine passed away and her daughter was taken here.  I’m here to assume responsibility for her care,” I informed the woman, only bending the truth a little.  I would pay for her care as long as necessary to find her a real family, but I had no intention of being anything like a father or even a friend to her.  I owed it to Mirjoln to ensure her daughter had a safe and happy life, not one with a man who continually left on adventures that lasted months on end and could end in his demise any day.

     Grelod paused for just the tiniest of moments.  “Well, I suppose a Stormcloak general would know about responsibility,” she sniffed.  “If you can pay the fee, I suppose the girl can go with you.”

     I realized suddenly that I didn’t even know the girl’s name.  Grelod didn’t seem the best person to ask, so I decided to wait and ask her herself if I couldn’t find out beforehand.  The amount of Septims that Grelod wanted was exorbitant, but I paid without comment and the woman led me to a back room that had several beds against the walls and pointed unceremoniously at a child.  “There she is.”  Grelod left without another word. 

     I moved toward the girl, already trying to formulate things to say, but she made me fumbling speech unnecessary.  “Are you the person here to rescue me?  I couldn’t believe it at first, but you said an old friend had passed away, and my mother and father died not long ago, so I came here.”

     “Yes, I’m here to adopt you,” I said carefully.  I didn’t want her to think I would be in her life any longer than necessary. 

     “That’s wonderful!”  She clapped, bubbling over with excitement, her brown hair flopping about her face and briefly obscuring her darker brown eyes.  “Can we leave now?”  She didn’t even wait for an answer but gathered up a small bag of belongings and ran to the door.

     I followed her, slightly bemused.  I was completely unused to children, but many of the ones I had met were more reserved and had less, well, energy.

     She stood outside the door impatiently.  “Where are we going?”

     “Well, for now I need you to stay with a friend of mine who lives in Riften, but after that you’re going to live in Whiterun,” I told her a little hesitantly.

     Her face fell instantly.  “But you just got here, and you’re already leaving?  Why can’t we go to Whiterun now?”  She grabbed onto my cloak, looking up at me pleadingly.  Her mesmerizing brown eyes were almost gold around the pupils.  “Please don’t leave me in Riften with Grelod!” 

     I didn’t have time to take her to Whiterun by horse, but the sight of her tearful brown eyes caused my heart to melt.  Gods, I was such a pushover.  “Fine, we can go straight to Whiterun.  But I need to tell you something,” I said seriously.

     “Okay!” she half shouted, her bouncy happiness back. 

     “We’re going to be flying back to Whiterun on a dragon named Odahviing,” I told her.  “He’s really much nicer than you would believe, and he loves to give people rides to places.”  And he was going to literally snap my head off, swallow it, then tear my body to shreds.  “It’s exactly like riding a horse, and much more fun.”

     “If you’re sure….” The girl said doubtfully.  “Daddy had a horse, and I rode it a few times.”

     “I’m sure,” I said firmly, wondering whether I had ever been farther from being sure.  “Now, come on.  Let’s go.”

     We made our way to the gates and exited the city, the guards looking at me rather suspiciously.  Luckily for them they didn’t stop me.  The girl’s adorableness had begun to run out as her endless chatter wore on my mind and she continuously stopped to look at things.

     Girl.  I still didn’t know her name.  Stepping on a tree trunk to lever myself over the obstacle, I asked, “By the way, can you tell me your name?  Grelod forgot to mention it.”  I probably should have spoken less sarcastically, but I couldn’t help it.

     “Oh it’s no problem,” the girl assured me, swaying back and forth as she balanced on the same trunk I had just navigated.  “I’d rather tell it to you myself anyway.  My name is Babette.”

I spent about 6 hours today writing this, so you can thank me for that xD  Actually about 3 pages ago I was going to stop for the night, but I have a ton of homework that I can't do until I get home after a 6 hour car ride tomorrow, so I worked overtime on this to FINALLY finish chapter 26.  I know where it's going next, so hopefully I won't take too long with chapter 27 (: