I once met the great Dragonborn, “Dovahkiin” in the Dragon tongue. Maybe it was by chance; maybe the Divines decided that I should meet him. I cannot say clearly why it happened, but I can recall how I felt. Mystified best fits for this tale.
I know many people have met the Dragonborn, often visiting a town or on his way through, determined to stop Alduin the World Eater, yet they only acknowledged he was there or that he made small talk. However, this was not like that at all.
Before I ruin the tale I soon tell, I would like to ask you, “What do you think of the Dragonborn?” Think about it as I tell this tale of how I met the Dragonborn, my friend.
The dirt road led into the colorful forest of the Rift. The forest was painted like autumn; there splashes of yellow, orange, and red covering the birches littering the hold, the green pines stood tall, the rocks rose up through piles of leaves, the streams ran cold so close to the mountains, the cold air flowed through the hold like one of the streams from, and the Throat of the World blocked the west side of Skyrim from sight. It was the 13th of Frostfall during the Dragon Crisis. What a nightmare, I tell you.
I was hunting deer by the shores of Lake Geir, about an hour’s walk from Ivarstead. I tracked a buck a ways before catching up to him. I crept up on him, making sure he wasn’t spooked. After I got a clear shot, I drew my hunting bow and shot an arrow straight into the lungs. It collapsed right after, not even moving from where it stood.
If you haven’t noticed, I am a hunter. I hunt for a living and make decent coin trading furs and meat in towns. It’s an honest living that requires a lot of work, let me tell you. This story though, seems like something out of an old fairy tale or legend. A hero rides upon his steed, warding off evil incarnate to protect the innocent. Funny how, even now, the heroes of Sovngarde drink to his name.
The buck had a nice pair of antlers an alchemist would surly want and a nice hide a blacksmith would tan. After I started field dressing the deer, I noticed a large shadow quickly move overhead. I looked up and saw a dragon silently fly by. It was a grayish color with a leaf-shaped tail from what I saw. I was silent.
The dragon seemed to bank around, coming back towards me. This time, it breathed out frost as it flew by, freezing the ground where it struck. I took off faster than a Bay Horse, heading back into the birch forest, hoping to hide from it, to only have it follow me still.
Hearing the dragon, I couldn’t tell until later whether it was breathing fire or frost. There weren’t any ashes afterwards. I ended up near an Imperial camp stationed in the Rift. Akatosh be praised! Imperial solders started shooting arrows at the dragon hounding me from the skies. I noticed, however, someone not in Legion armor. Who was he?
I got a couple breaths in before I started shooting my arrows at the dragon. I noticed it had a crest on its head, unlike other dragons I heard about, and a sail along its back. This dragon looked truly terrifying, a blood dragon I was told later. It let out a roar that caught me off guard, making me fall backwards after stumbling over a rock. It landed in the clearing we were in, fending off several attackers, as it crawled over to me with killing in its mind. I stared at death quickly approaching me.
Out of nowhere, the warrior who aided the Legion soldiers suddenly jumped onto its long neck, almost riding it. The dragon stopped and roared in anger. His weight keeping the dragon’s head down, the warrior drew his sword and slashed out the dragon’s eyes.
Sorry, I must inform you that I cannot refer to the dragon as a beast. Dragons are sentient beings, according to the legends and to those with knowledge of dragons. The shouts they use to shoot fire and ice from their very mouths are a form of speech among themselves. I learned most of this after some research from tomes and scholars. Simply, dragons are not beasts, but beings created by Akatosh before man and mer.
As the dragon cried out in pain, the warrior continued to hack away at the dragon. After a few moments, the dragon went limp. As I thought the battle was over, something mystical happened. I never saw anything like it before. The warrior absorbed the dragon’s soul.
The dragon turned into ashes, and white mist-like essence streamed from the corpse into the warrior. After he absorbed the soul, there was nothing but bone and a couple scales left of the dragon. Now being free of danger, he asks me, “Did he chase you?”
It took me a moment to realize he asked me a question. “You’re the Dragonborn?” I asked surprisingly, knowing full well the answer.
“Yes,” he said indifferently. Something told me he wasn’t just a warrior, but someone knowledgeable. He seemed like someone who took time to read and study lore.
“It chased me from the shores of Lake Geir to here.”
“’He,’” he responded. “Dragons aren’t beasts. You wouldn’t refer to a Khajiit as an †˜it,’ would you?”
“No, I guess not.” This is where I learned that dragons aren’t mindless beasts. “I know it isn’t much, but thank you.” He walked towards the dragon bones and scales that remained and knelt down.
“Do you know you can use these bones to create weapons?” he asked randomly.
“No,” I said bluntly. There was no need to beat around the bush.
“Well, they can be made into powerful weapons.”
I am not a man who ledges stories and tales. This is just how I met the one we know as the Dragonborn. We sing songs and tell tales about this hero, yet those alone do not describe his worth. He is a hero, like Talos and Ysgramor, who is worthy of Sovngarde. An honorable and thoughtful man, he fights because he must. He is Dragonborn, Dovahkiin.