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As the Dragonborn glared at the distant goat lingering around a certain giant, he made sure to curse Sam Guevenne for all this trouble. Whatever was in those drinks they shared, it should be banned! “Special brew” must be codeword for “spiked”; that must be it. Not only did he not get his promised staff, but apparently the Dragonborn had trashed the shrine of Dibella and stolen a goat to sell to a giant. And he was starting to suspect there was yet more to discover about his little night to remember.
After stewing for several minutes, the Nord ended up sighing. Well, there wasn’t much else to do now save kill this giant, return the goat, and learn the next clue. Maybe if he was lucky, the trail would lead him straight to Sam and he’d be able to exact some revenge. That thought might just keep him going for a little while longer.
And so, the Dragonborn cocked the strongest arrow in his arsenal to prepare for an opening sneak attack on the giant. These bastards were strong - he had the misfortune to get launched into the air by one before, barely survived by sheer luck. He was not about to just charge in and hit him ‘til he died. He was going to be smart about it.
Luckily for him, he managed to get the giant to half health before he had to resort to closer combat. The Dragonborn suffered much damage, yet it was the giant that fell first. With that, there was nothing stopping him from taking the goat, now.
Except, as the Nord was reaching in his pocket for some minor health potions, he heard the growling of a sabre cat. He swerved his body in the direction of the growling, and watched the beast already charging at him. He had basically no time to heal himself.
How fucking fantastic.
As he prepared his sword and braced for a potentially lethal blow, the Dragonborn was once again completely caught off guard. This time, however, it was the goat that was launching into the air. The horned animal collided with the sabre cat, throwing the latter’s trajectory off. The big cat not only missed, but was in the perfect position to receive a slash from the Dragonborn’s sword without having time to dodge or strike back.
Of course, the warrior did just that before jumping back to avoid any retaliation. To his shock, the goat continued to attack the sabre cat, and strangely didn’t appear to be taking any damage as she did so. His eyes practically bulged out of his skull at the sight. However, with the goat preventing the cat from getting too close, the Dragonborn decided to take this as an opportunity to heal up. After the potions brought him back to a decent amount of health, he flung himself back into the fray and easily finished off the sabre cat.
After that, he stared back down at the goat. While it did not do much damage, it seemed perfectly fine. Typically a goat went down from just two hits when attacked by anything larger than itself. Yet, this gal had just soldiered through a dozen sabre cat blows and came out of it as if the fight had not occurred at all. And the Dragonborn had seen people fair worse from those beasts.
“Gleda, was it?” he asked the goat, despite knowing she obviously could not answer.
He looked back to Rorikstead, which was not too far away. It would only take several minutes to reach Ennis the farmer, return the goat, and be on his way. He might gain information that might lead him to Sam Guevenne should he do so. And yet…
He grinned back at Gleda. “Why don’t we take the long, long way back to the farm, ole girl?”
“Drem Yol Lok. Greetings, wunduniik. I am Paarthurnax. Who are you? What brings you to my strunmah... my mountain?"
The Nord man squinted up at the Grandmaster who landed before him. “ You’re the master of the Greybeards?”
“They see me as master. Wuth. Onik. Old and wise. It is true I am old..." The ragged gray dragon squinted back down at the Dragonborn. “Old enough that I do not understand. Why is this goat following you?”
The Dragonborn did not even glance back down at Gleda, who sat proudly at his feet. “Her name is Gleda. She killed all the Ice Wraiths on the way. And all the Draugr guarding Jurgen Windcaller’s dungeon.”
‘Ah, a warrior beast, then. I bet she’d make fine offspring.”
The Dragonborn’s eyes widened. “Oh, Ennis! You reminded me!” He shook his head. “Gah, but I came all this way for the Dragonrend shout first. I’d better do that first.”
Paarthurnax blinked in confusion, but otherwise continued. "Drem. Patience. There are formalities which must be observed, at the first meeting of two of the dov…”
With all the invited parties gathered, each representative sat at the table prepared by the Greybeards for the peace counsel. General Tullius, Legate Rikke, Jarl Elisif the Fair, Ambassador Elenwen, Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak, Galmar Stone-Fist, Jarl Balgruuf the Greater, Delphine and Esbern of the Blades, Arngeir of the Greybeards, the Dragonborn himself…
...and a goat.
Everyone but the Dragonborn, Arngeir, Delphine, and Esbern stared at Gleda. After all, the latter three were all familiar with the situation already.
Elenwen was the first to speak up about it. “Why is there-”
“She stays.”
“But this is highly-!”
“ She stays. ”
Tsun stared down at the goat in between the Dragonborn’s feet. If he didn’t know any better, he could’ve sworn she was wagging her tail like a mutt.
“She’s worthy, I can tell.” Tsun finally said. Gleda bleated in response. “She also vouches for your worth. Come right on in, Dragonborn.”
Blazing through the sky, Gleda the goat impacted against the chest of Alduin the World Eater. Her horns embedded into his draconic heart, sealing his fate and ending this final, epic battle. The Dragonborn - who threw her at the dragon with perfect aim - grinned as the black beast fell to the ground.
“Impossible!” Alduin hissed as his body already smoked and shimmered. “She is...she is just a goat!”
“Nay!” one of the ghostly warriors behind the Dragonborn yelled back. “She is Gleda! And Gleda is always victorious!”
“Hear, hear!”
The hooded woman who emerged from the coffin looked dazed at the sight before her.
“Unh...where is...who sent you?” She blinked. “And why did you bring a goat…?”
“Her name is Gleda. She is an expert vampire slayer.” A bleat interrupted the Dragonborn, causing him to briefly study the goat before looking back at Serana. “And she demands that you start talking, fiend of Molag Bal.”
“The...what in Oblivion?!”
Sprawled over the floor, the once great dragon priest was now dead. The first Dragonborn. The legendary Miraak had been slain.
The bloody Gleda licked her chops as the current Dragonborn petted her with pride. “Good Gleda, that’s a very good Gleda.”
Gleda bleated before taking Miraak’s mask from the corpse. She began nibbling on it while the Dragonborn stared at the now revealed face.
“Gods, he was an ugly one, wasn’t he?”
“MRAYAYAH.”
“Yeah, even in death, he still needs that more than we do. Let’s just go see what the wooden mask we found will lead us to.”
The Ebony Warrior sized up the one before him. He had legends of the slayer of Alduin, the slayer of Miraak, the hero of the Dawnguard and Solstheim and Skyrim as a whole. He had desired to do battle with this legendary warrior, in the hopes that he could finally receive a worthy and glorious death.
The Dragonborn sized him up as well. The Ebony Warrior seemed very impressive, but standards were high when it came to dueling. Given all those wanting to test their luck, only the worthy were granted the opportunity to do honorable battle. He had a feeling the Ebony Warrior might be the only one who would finally earn that right.
“What do you think, Gleda?” He turned to the goat. “Is he up to snuff?”
For several moments, Gleda stared in silence. The Ebony Warrior waited with bated breath. A bleat came, yet he only exhaled once the Dragonborn finally translated.
“Very well. Gleda will give you your honorable death, Ebony Warrior.”
However, all good things must soon come to an end. When all adventures within Skyrim and beyond seemed to be completed, the Dragonborn realized there was still yet one to be done. It was one he had put off for oh so long, as he could barely bring himself to see it through. With it, surely there would be nothing left for him. He finally understood the feeling the Ebony Warrior must’ve had.
It would hurt, but it had to be done. It was always destined to be.
“Here’s your goat.” The Dragonborn sighed and slumped his shoulders. “Now can you help me retrace my steps?”
“Gleda! And not a scratch on her! Happy day!” Ennis raised his eyebrow when he saw she was fully decked in ebony armor and the mask Konahrik. Still, he shook his head and cleared it of any suspicions and questions. They did not matter. His goat was finally home. He couldn’t even remember how long it had been now.
“I still can't figure out why you stole her. You left a note explaining it, but half of it was gibberish and the rest had mead spilled on it. Only bit I could make out was ‘repaying Ysolda in Whiterun,’ and even that's mostly scribbles. Guess you could try there.”
The Dragonborn simply nodded, and left without another word. He couldn’t muster any. Only when he was at the edge of Rorikstead did he turn his head back to give Gleda one final, longing stare. She stared back. And they both nodded.
He continued onwards with a new determination. Sam Guevenne - here I fucking come.