Chapter 11
The riverside village surrounded by tall pine trees Riverwood finally came into view.
From a distance, the sound of the river was already audible: a constant, soothing rush of crystal-clear water flowing over smooth stones. Wooden houses with thatched roofs lined the riverbank, their chimneys releasing thin trails of smoke that dissolved into the cold morning air. The scent of pine resin drifted on the breeze, mixed with the faint aroma of freshly cut timber from the local sawmill. Chickens clucked lazily in the dirt paths, and villagers in simple fur-lined clothes greeted each other as they went about their quiet routines.
Crossing the wooden bridge into the heart of the village, the warmth of Riverwood wrapped around us a small, humble community, but full of life. The towering pines filtered the sunlight, casting soft dancing shadows over the cobblestone paths.
Once we arrived, we headed straight to the Sleeping Giant Inn.
The inn's heavy wooden door creaked open, and at once, a wave of warmth washed over us. Compared to the chilly air outside, the interior felt almost heavenly. A large hearth burned brightly in the center of the common room, flames crackling as they devoured thick logs of firewood. The smell of roasted meat, baked bread, and burning pine filled the air.
A bard sat near the corner, plucking gently at his lute. His voice was soft just enough to bring life to the room without disturbing the quiet conversations of travelers sitting at rough wooden tables. Tankards clinked together, the low murmur of voices blending with the occasional laugh from drunken patrons.
The walls were decorated with old hunting trophies and faded banners. The floorboards creaked under each step, worn smooth from years of boots, armor, and spilled mead. A faint haze of smoke hung near the rafters, mixing with the warm glow of candlelight to create a cozy, almost nostalgic atmosphere.
It was the kind of place where weary adventurers could finally breathe, if only for a moment. And for us after everything we'd been through the Sleeping Giant Inn felt like a small pocket of safety in a world filled with dragons and danger.
We approached one of the inn's staff a woman in a simple linen dress, her sleeves rolled up as she wiped down the counter. She glanced up when we came near, her eyes tired but alert.
"Hey, are you renting out the attic room here?" I asked.
At the mention of attic room, her hand froze mid-wipe. A subtle stiffness crept into her shoulders.
"Attic room?" she echoed, tilting her head slightly. For a brief moment, her gaze sharpened almost as if she was evaluating us. Then she forced a polite smile. "Sorry, we only rent out the regular rooms. Come, I'll show you."
Her tone was friendly, but the way her fingers tightened around the cloth betrayed tension.
She moved briskly down the hallway, her steps light yet purposeful, glancing over her shoulder once as if checking whether anyone was watching. When we reached a plain wooden door, she opened it with practiced ease.
The moment Astrid and I stepped inside, thunk the door slammed shut behind us.
She didn't lock it, but the swiftness of her movement made my pulse jump.
When we turned to face her, her posture had completely changed.
Her polite innkeeper smile had vanished.
Her expression was cold, calculating. Her eyes sharp as daggers studied us without blinking.
"So," she said quietly, her voice dropping into a controlled whisper, "you're the famous Dragonborn."
She reached into her coat with a fluid, deliberate motion no hesitation, no wasted movement like someone used to pulling weapons, not innkeeper tools.
"I assume you're looking for this."
She held out the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller, the ancient artifact resting casually in her palm as if it were nothing more than a misplaced trinket.
Astrid shifted her weight immediately, her hand drifting toward the hilt of her weapon. Her eyes narrowed, her jaw tightening.
"So you're the one who stole it," she said, her voice low. "And the corpses in that dungeon… was that your doing too?"
The woman didn't flinch. Instead, she lifted her chin slightly, meeting Astrid's stare head-on.
There was no guilt in her eyes only cool confidence.
"When I arrived," she said calmly, "I only found a handful of bandits. I dealt with them," she added with a small shrug, as if killing bandits was nothing more than a minor inconvenience, "but avoided unnecessary conflict by sneaking through the rest."
Her voice was steady, her expression unreadable.
It was the kind of composure only a trained operative or a deadly assassin could maintain under pressure.
"Does that answer your question?" she finished, crossing her arms lightly, one eyebrow raised in challenge.
I was impressed honestly impressed and the words slipped out before I could stop them.
"As expected from the Blades…"
The moment the word Blades left my mouth, a cold whisper of steel slid against my throat.
Delphine moved so fast I didn't even see her draw the dagger one second she was glaring at me, the next her blade was already pressing against the skin under my jaw. Her eyes narrowed sharply, her expression shifting into lethal focus.
"How do you know about the Blades?" she hissed, leaning in so close I could feel her breath. "Are you a Thalmor spy?"
A bead of sweat trickled down my neck partly from fear, partly because the dagger's edge was right there.
Damn. Nice one, Alex. Brilliant. Absolutely flawless execution.
Of course I knew who she was.
Delphine. The Blade. The one character in Skyrim who could intimidate an actual dragon with pure attitude.
But I couldn't exactly say, "Oh, I know you because I played the game."
So I steadied my breathing and forced my voice to remain even.
"I'm not stupid," I said carefully, slowly raising my hands in a non-threatening gesture. "With the rise of the Dragonborn, there's no way your order wouldn't get involved. If you hadn't stolen the Horn, I wouldn't have suspected you. And every book says the Blades served the Emperor who was also Dragonborn. It all connects, doesn't it?"
Delphine's eyes flickered just slightly. Doubt, or maybe grudging respect. But she didn't lower the dagger. The tension in her arm stayed tight, her knuckles pale around the hilt.
"You might've just gotten lucky guessing all that… Thalmor spy."
My pulse hammered in my ears. My throat felt way too exposed. Was I actually about to die because of a reflex comment?
Then a hand touched Delphine's shoulder.
Astrid.
She stepped forward, her jaw set, her eyes fierce. Even though she spoke calmly, her grip on Delphine's shoulder was firm protective.
"Relax," Astrid said softly, though her voice carried a steel edge. "He's been with me this whole time even during Helgen. If he were really a Thalmor spy, he wouldn't have cut down Imperial soldiers to save me."
Astrid's gaze softened, just a little, when she looked at me.
"In fact… he's the reason I'm still alive."
My heart stuttered in confusion.
Why did she say it like that?
But I told myself she was just being grateful. That was all. Right?
Delphine frowned, her eyes darting between us. Slowly very slowly she lowered the dagger. But she didn't sheathe it. Her fingers stayed curled around the hilt, ready to strike again at the slightest provocation.
"Fine," she said grudgingly. "I trust the Dragonborn's judgment. But you " her eyes snapped back to me, sharp as a hawk's, "I do not trust."
She turned toward Astrid, crossing her arms.
"I need to speak with you in private. Somewhere quiet. Follow me."
Astrid lifted her chin defiantly. Her arms crossed over her chest, her stance wide and challenging clearly not budging an inch.
"If he can't come, then I won't either," she said. "Treat him as my equal or we're returning to the Greybeards."
Delphine blinked. For a moment, she genuinely looked lost, as if this was the first time someone had refused her.
"Why do you trust him so much?" she asked.
Astrid's expression softened barely but her voice did not waver.
"He's been with me through danger, through death. He saved my life at Helgen. That alone is enough."
Delphine's brows furrowed as she studied Astrid's face… then mine. It was like she was piecing together a puzzle she wasn't expecting to find.
Finally, she exhaled.
"Fine. I suppose you've earned a sliver of my trust."
Then her gaze darkened as she pointed her dagger at me again.
"But if you betray her if you so much as think of raising a blade against the Dragonborn you'll deal with me, little man."
That little man part stung. I opened my mouth to protest, but
"Stop it already!" Astrid suddenly burst out, cheeks flushing a deep shade of red. She stepped between us, glaring at Delphine. "His name is Alex. And he's… he's important to me."
My heart warmed at the words.
Of course, I assumed she meant important as a partner in battle, a trusted comrade.
…But Delphine clearly saw something else.
Her lips curled into a knowing smirk, eyes flicking to Astrid's reddened cheeks.
"Oh?" she hummed. "Well then… don't you dare make a woman this pretty cry. Or I'll break you."
Again I misunderstood.
Obviously, she meant Astrid was important as a Dragonborn. Right?
So I nodded confidently.
"Don't worry. I won't let her get hurt. Not as long as I'm by her side."
Astrid's breaths hitched for a split second.
Her fingers tensed at her sides.
A faint tremor ran through her shoulders.
But she quickly turned away, grabbing Delphine's wrist in an abrupt, flustered motion.
"A-Alright! You said you wanted to talk somewhere else, right? Let's go!"
As she dragged Delphine toward the hidden room, Delphine shot me a sideways grin.
"Lucky bastard," she muttered under her breath.
She brought us into her room, but instead of stopping there, she walked straight to a wooden sconce mounted on the wall. With a sharp twist, something clicked followed by the deep grinding sound of stone shifting. A hidden trapdoor slowly opened, revealing a narrow staircase leading downward.
Astrid blinked. "A secret passage…? Inside an inn?"
Delphine only motioned with her chin. "Come."
We descended into dim torchlight, the air growing cooler and tinged with the metallic scent of steel and alchemy ingredients. When my boots hit the stone floor, my eyes widened.
Armor racks lined the walls, each holding polished but battle-scarred gear of ancient Blade craftsmanship. An alchemy table brimmed with dried roots, glowing mushrooms, and vials neatly labeled in a code I didn't understand. Nearby, an enchanting table hummed faintly with arcane energy, its surface glowing with runic patterns that pulsed like a heartbeat.
This was no basement.
This was a war room.
Delphine crossed her arms, assessing Astrid.
"I hope you truly are the Dragonborn the Greybeards believe you to be."
Astrid's brows furrowed. "Then what do you want from us?"
"I did all of this to avoid a Thalmor trap," Delphine replied, voice tight.
"They've already moved," I cut in before she could continue. "When we went to retrieve the Horn, Thalmor soldiers were on high alert. Searching for a woman."
THUD!
Delphine's palm slammed onto the table hard enough that a few vials rattled.
"Damn it so they've already started."
Astrid's hand drifted instinctively to the hilt of her sword. Delphine raised a hand, calming but stern.
"Relax. I'm not your enemy. I returned the Horn, didn't I?"
She had a point. I nodded slowly.
"Astrid… I think she's telling the truth. The puzzle in the ruin wasn't something a random person could bypass."
But something gnawed at me.
"How did you get past it, anyway? Only someone who knows Whirlwind Sprint can cross that gap."
A smirk tugged at Delphine's lips.
"Simple. There's a secret passage connected to the final chamber. A back route. I took that."
I frowned. "But the switch for that route is "
"Broken," she finished proudly. "By me. I needed a way to ensure the one who reached the Horn was the real Dragonborn."
That explained everything… in the most frustrating way possible.
Delphine straightened.
"Now, back to what matters. I need proof that you can absorb a dragon's soul."
Astrid folded her arms, posture stiff. "You expect a dragon to appear on command?"
"I know it's unreasonable," Delphine admitted softly. "But time is running out. The Thalmor are hunting me. And the Blades… well, we have a messy history with them. Before we can work together, I need to confirm you're truly Dragonborn."
Astrid's eyes flicked to me, uncertainty flickering there.
"Alex… do we trust her?"
In Skyrim's story, Delphine truly did support the Dragonborn. So I nodded without hesitation.
"Yes. Even if she tried to introduce her dagger to my neck earlier. She risked everything to steal the Horn. That counts for something."
Delphine exhaled relieved, but trying not to show it.
"Thank you. And apologies, again. Formal introduction: I'm Delphine. Innkeeper is just my surface role. The truth…" she gestured around the room, "is far more complicated. If you defeat a dragon and absorb its soul, I'll tell you everything."
Astrid frowned. "But why me? I'm not the strongest."
Delphine shook her head sharply.
"This isn't about strength. Dragons… haven't been seen for generations. Not until recently when they began appearing again."
She paused, bracing herself.
"And worse… they're rising from the dead."
A cold draft seemed to sweep through the room at her words.
Astrid's voice dropped to a whisper.
"Dead dragons… rising again?"
Delphine nodded, eyes darkening with the memory.
"I visited a burial mound. A dragon's grave, untouched for centuries. Or so I thought."
Her hand curled slowly into a fist.
"The entire mound was torn open from the inside. Claw marks in the stone. As if something ancient had forced its way out of the earth."
A chill crawled down my spine. This wasn't a game cutscene. This was real.
I straightened. "So where do we go?"
Delphine pointed to a circled location on her map.
"Kynesgrove. There's a dragon burial site just outside the town. Signs indicate another resurrection will happen soon."
Astrid inhaled sharply, resolve hardening behind her eyes.
"Then we go."
"It's late," I added. "We should rest before we travel."
And also… I needed to level up. And enchant my armor. Because tomorrow, we weren't just fighting a dragon.
We were going to watch one rise from the dead.
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