The Will of Mara - Chapter 3

As the morning sun crept over the mountains that surrounded Whiterun, Drogon's eyes flickered open. A faint thudding drummed in his temples, he looked around, he had no recollection of this place. He sat up slowly, a night in an actual bed had done his back some good, but he froze when he saw that he was not alone in the bed. A Nord woman, younger than he, and thankfully still asleep, was laid beside him. He slid out of the bed quietly and tiptoed his way down the creaky wooden stairs, with every step that passed under his feet, his memories of the night before returned to him. He paused at his realisation of what he'd done, he'd slept with a Nord woman. He gulped and hurried with his armour, trying to be as quick as he can without waking the woman upstairs. He grabbed his sword and crept out the door, closing it behind him.

He virtually ran to his house, thankfully no one was about at this time in the morning, so he didn't have to look so guilty. His war-hound, Vigilance, was waiting for him as he unlocked the door. He patted his head and walked through the house. He paced for some time, puzzling with his situation. He had two choices; he could stay where he was, but word would eventually get out and he would be shamed into leaving his home in Whiterun, or he could just leave and avoid this problem. He explored both options, a thought also crossed his mind, do Nord men often do this? Find a woman in a tavern, drink her into a stupor and then have his way with her? This event was out of character with him, he was unused to the company of women, they were dangerous allies and even more dangerous enemies. He had fought a few women, they were relentless, and Nord women warriors were feared throughout Skyrim. He shook his head and sat down in front of his fireplace. He frowned, he didn't want to leave Whiterun as he had good trading relations there and his armour came from here too. But he would have to leave eventually, but then came the decision of were to go once he had left there. He stood up and went about finding his map of Skyrim, Drogon thought that going north would be better. He had friends in Winterhold from when he saved their town from a dragon that lived in the mountain nearby. Also the mage College there intrigued him, he could use magic, but only the very basic spells. He could take time to improve his skills, no doubt an atronach would prove useful against dragons and other various creatures that liked to prey on travellers. It was decided, he was going to Winterhold to learn more about his ability to use magic and also to be away from here.

Drogon returned to his seat, Vigilance padded over and looked up at him, his intelligent eyes wondering what was bothering his owner. Drogon patted his head, “we're going to Winterhold boy, let's get packing” he muttered as he stood up, it was only as he looked around he realised that aside from his armour, weapons and food, he had nothing. His family was killed by Thalmor when he was very young, he had gone out to collect food and wood for his family, but when he returned all Drogon could remember was opening the door and seeing them all, stripped bare of everything of value. He left, hatred consuming his heart, until he found his purpose. Becoming the Dragonborn was the best thing that ever happened to him it gave him focus and something to work towards. He had lost many friends to the dragons he'd slain, but with each dragon soul he had consumed, he had grown more powerful and his shouts that the Greybeards had taught him helped him to no end with his journeys. When he'd met Paarthanax atop the Throat of the World, he taught Drogon to study the words and to become fully indulged in the words of his shouts.

He turned and gathered his supplies, he walked back outside into the wintry morning. People had already started busying about, getting their stalls ready to sell their goods for the day. Some were new and he hadn't seen their faces before, but others he knew well. He needed to say goodbye to his friends in Whiterun before he left and also to alert the Jarl's steward that he was leaving. He found his friends where they always were, tending to their stores or to the grindstone, he said goodbye to them and made his way up to the Dragonsreach. Avenicci, the Steward there had never liked Drogon, and so news of his leave left a small smirk on his thin lips. Drogon then left and walked with Vigilance at his side to the stables and bought himself a horse with the gold he had received from his house. From there it would be a long trek north to Winterhold, once Drogon was mounted, he took one last look at Whiterun before turning his horse to the road and riding away, Vigilance close to heel.

Continued in Chapter 4