“Isn’t it amazing?’
“I just want to know how to defeat Alduin.” Meliandra flexed her hand open and closed, the cut she had made to open the Blood Seal healed with her magic, but the pain beneath the skin screamed. She looked down the length of panels, the glow from Esbern’s torch illuminating the ancient engravings carved into stone.
“Ah. Of course,” the older man said. “Not everyone has an appreciation for the artistic wonders of the world. Let me see if I can find the right panel… Yes, yes. Let’s see what we have… Look, this panel goes back to the beginning of time, when Alduin and the Dragon Cult ruled over Skyrim. Here,” he tapped the panel, “the humans rebel against their dragon overlords. – the legendary Dragon War. Alduin’s defeat is the centerpiece of the Wall. You see,” he pointed to part of the panel, “here he is falling from the sky. The Nord Tongues – Masters of the Voice – are arrayed against him. “
Delphine spoke up. “So, does it show how they defeated him? Isn’t that why we’re here?”
The man chuckled, “Patience, my dear. The Akavari were not a straightforward people. Everything is couched in allegory and mythic symbolism.” He was silent again as his aged eyes looked meticulously before him, bringing his torch closer. “yes, yes. This here, coming from the mouths of the Nord heroes – this is the Akavari symbol for ‘Shout’. But…there’s no way to know what Shout is meant.”
Delphine shook her head in disbelief. “You mean they used a Shout to defeat Alduin? You’re sure?”
“Hmmm? Oh, yes.” He nodded. “Presumably, something rather specific to dragons, or even Alduin himself. Remember, this is where they recorded all they knew of Alduin and his return.
“So, we’re looking for a Shout, then.” Delphine shook her head. “Damn it.” She turned her attention to Meliandra. “Have you heard of such a thing? A Shout that can knock a dragon out of the sky?”
She shook her head. “No, I’ve never heard of anything like that.” She shrugged. “The Greybeards might know.”
“You’re probably right. I was hoping to avoid having to involve them in this, but it seems we have no choice.”
Meliandra glared at the woman, her tone of voice aggravating her. “What do you have against the Greybeards?”
“If they had their way, you’d do nothing but sit up on their mountain with them and talk to the sky, or whatever it is they do.” She shook her head then met the Dragonborn’s eyes. “The Greybeards are so afraid of power that they won’t use it. Think about it. Have they tried to stop the civil war, or done anything about Alduin? No, they haven’t. And they’re afraid of you, of your power. Trust me, there’s no need to be afraid. Think of Tiber Septim. Do you think he’d have founded the Empire if he’d listened to the Greybeards?”
“The Greybeards may have a point,” she countered. “Power is dangerous.”
“Only if you don’t know how to use it. All the great heroes have had to learn to use their power. And those that shrank from their destiny…well, you’ve never heard of them, have you? And there are the villains – those that misused their power. There’s always a choice, and there’s always a risk. But if you live in fear of what might go wrong, you’ll end up doing nothing. Like the Greybeards. Upon their mountain.”
Absentmindedly nodding, Meliandra reached down to pick up the knapsack by her feet. “I’d better go see what Arngeir knows about this Shout.”
Delphine blew air through her nose, her voice taking an edge of sarcasm as she responded, “Right. Good thing they’ve already let you into their little cult. Not likely they’d help Esbern or me if we came calling. We’ll look around Sky haven Temple and see what else the old Blades might have left for us. It’s a better hideout than I could have hoped for.”
They bid each other goodbye and Meliandra made her way back out the ancient temple, Delphine’s words ringing in her ears. She herself had found Arngeir immovable in his thoughts, refusing to see anything other than his own beliefs, his truths were the only truths. She had begun to understand why Ulfric abandoned his training with the Greybeards, why he had deviated from their teachings.
Sighing deeply, she thought to herself that this task before her was going to prove to be one of her most trying.
#
It was quiet as she walked through High Hrothgar, the only sound being that of her footfalls softly echoing in the large, open room. Keeping in mind Master Arngeir’s strict adherence to his daily routines, she made her way to the Greybeard’s living chambers, where she knew she’d find the monk in quiet mindfulness, some light meditation as he ate a small mid-day meal.
And that’s exactly where she found him.
“Sky guard you,” he greeted her.
“I need to learn the Shout used to defeat Alduin.”
She said it so straight to the point and without any form of preamble that Arngeir stared at her briefly with disbelief coming over his face. His voice became strained with the displeasure he had felt rise within him like bile forcing its way up from the intestines. “Where did you hear of that? Who have you been talking to?”
“It was recorded on Alduin’s Wall.”
“The Blades! Of course.” He practically spit the words out. “They specialize in meddling in matters they barely understand. Their reckless arrogance knows no bounds. They have always sought to turn the Dragonborn from the path of wisdom. Have you learned nothing from us? Would you simply e a tool in the hands of the Blades, to be used for their own purposes?”
“The Blades are helping me,” she spat. “I’m not their puppet.”
“No, no, of course not. Forgive me, Dragonborn.” He run his hand over his beard. “I have been intemperate with you. But heed my warning – the Blades may say they serve the Dragonborn, but they do not. They never have.”
“So,” she stated flatly, “can you teach me this Shout?”
He frowned. “No. I cannot teach it to you because I* do not know it. It is called ‘Dragonrend’, but its Words of Power are unknown to us. We do not regret this loss. Dragonrend holds no place within the Way of the Voice.”
“What’s so bad about Dragonrend?”
“It was created by those who had lived under the unimaginable cruelty of Alduin’s Dragon Cult,” he explained. Their whole lives were consumed with hatred for dragons, and they poured all their anger and hatred into this Shout.” He paused for a moment, searching for the right words before continuing, “When you learn a Shout, you take it into your very being. In a sense, you become the Shout. In order to learn and use this Shout, you will be taking this evil into yourself.”
She looked at him confused. “If the Shout is lost, how can I defeat Alduin?”
Taking a deep breath, Arngeir answered, “Only Paarthurnax, the master of our order, can answer that question, if he so chooses.”
Even more confused, she asked, “Who is Paarthurnax?”
“He is our leader. He surpasses us all in his mastery of the Way of the Voice.”
“Then I need to speak to Paarthurnax.”
“You aren’t ready,” he snapped. “You’re still not ready.” He sighed. “But thanks to the Blades, you now have question that only Paarthurnax can answer.”
“Why haven’t I met Paarthurnax yet?”
“He lives in seclusion on the very peak of the mountain. He speaks to us only rarely, and never to outsiders. Being allowed to see him is a great privilege.”
“So, how do I get to the top of the mountain to see him?”
“Only those whose Voice is strong can find the path. Come,” he said as he stood. “We will teach you a Shout to open the way to Paarthurnax.”
#
She saw the crest of the top of the mountain and sighed a deep breath of relief. Her legs were tired, and she had worked up quite an appetite. The rabbit she had speared with her bow and arrow moments before would make a good meal if she could build a fire to roast it over. Hopefully this Paarthurnax would be hospitable and welcoming, he would surely desire to meet the Dragonborn, would he not? She had convinced herself over and over that the leader of the Greybeards would want to meet her.
In the distance she saw a Word Wall and a bemused look crossed her face. She determined this Paarthurnax who had made his way up her must truly have a mastery of the Voice for even with her being Dragonborn, she had struggled up this path. Finding a patch of ground devoid of snow, she set about setting up a small spit to roast the rabbit.
Her elven ears picked up the sound of flapping wings before she felt the wind pick up around her. Her hand went to her sword as she spun around and looked up, her eyes narrowing as she beheld the mighty dragon descending in front of her.
“Drem Val Lok,” rumbled the voice of the dragon. “I am Paarthurnax.”
“Oh, Delphine’s not going to like this,” she thought, sheathing her sword.
#
She sat at a table, reading the book before her, again. ‘A bird cresting the wind is lifted by a gust and downed by a stone…’ She sighed as she looked up from reading and rubbed her eyes. As she looked around the room, giving her eyes a break from focusing on the small writing in the fading daylight hours, she noticed the Altmer in Thalmor robes watching her from afar. He had been there for a while, not even trying to conceal what he was doing. He made her uncomfortable. She turned her attention back to the book before her. ‘The all-sight of the Scrolls makes a turning of the mind such that relative positions are absolute in their primacy…’ She shook her head again. Picking up the books the Orc had given her, she went to the college librarian. “this Ruminations book is incomprehensible.”
The Orc smiled; it was unnerving to see for her. “Aye, that’s the work of Septimus Signus. He’s the world’s master of the nature of the Elder Scrolls, but…well. He’s been gone for a long while. Too long.”
She glanced over her shoulder.; the Thalmor was still watching her. “Where did he go?”
He shrugged. “Somewhere up north, in the icefields.” He picked up the books she had laid down. “Said he found some old Dwemer artifact, but well, that was years ago.” With a slight groan, he continued as he walked to the bookshelf behind the counter and placed the books back where had gotten them. “Haven’t heard from him since.”
Nodding, she thanked him. “its getting late,” she said. “I need to stop at the general store down in town before I leave.”
“A storm is on its way,” the Orc said. “Should probably get a room at the inn and leave in the morning.”
She smiled, the Altmer kept in her line of sight as she responded, “Might be a good idea.”
She walked past the Thalmor agent, watching him out of the corner of her eye, her distrust showing clearing in her hooded eyes. She had no intentions on staying in Winterhold this night.
#
The Altmer approached Urag gro-Shub. “Who was that?”
The Orc looked at him then back at the book he was reading. “A researcher, looking for information on Elder Scrolls.”
“Oh, really? From where?”
Urag turned the page. “I believe she said she came from the Imperial City, I don’t recall. We had quite the riveting conversation before she sat down to look through what we have.”
An eyebrow rose. “Did she mention why she was looking into the Scrolls?”
He shook his head. “Maybe she imagines herself to be a Moth Priest.”
Ancano gave a fake laugh as he eyed the Orc suspiciously. “Where’s her research taking her next?”
He shrugged. “Don’t know, didn’t say. Only that she needed to restock her supplies before leaving.” He turned another page in his book.
Ancano stood there for a moment, knowing the man was keeping something from him, then turned on his heel and walked away. The Orc might think him a fool, but Ancano would prove that that Orsimer was far inferior to him. He knew more than he let on, having watched, and listened from the shadows for so long. He glided past the students as they entered and exited the main building and made his way to where his room was housed and made his way inside. Ascending the stairs, he thought about what he was going to say before his thoughts drifted to what rewards would be bestowed upon him for his assistance to the cause.
With a flick of his wrist, his room was illuminated by the magelight spell he cast. He sat at his desk and, retrieving a parchment of paper and his ink and quill, he began penning a letter to Elenwen informing her that Ayrena had been seen and was seeking information on the Elder Scrolls.
#
She shut the wooden door behind her, then looked at the two objects she held in her travel pack. ‘I hope he’s right,’ she thought to herself, reflecting on what had just transpired below this frozen slab of ice, the words of a possibly deranged and delusional madman echoing in her ears. As she secured the travel pack on her back, she thought to herself, ‘He better be right.’