7,000 steps my Nord ass. It felt like 7 trillion. I spent all day trudging up the ancient, snow-covered foot-holds. My housecarl had decided to stay in Ivarstead. She says it's not her place at High Hrothgar. The cold didn't bother me much until halfway through when I was almost swept off my feet by a sudden gust of wind. I only managed to stay on the mountain thanks to a tree that broke my fall. I barely managed to keep hold of the bag of supplies that one of the townspeople had asked me to deliver to the legendary monks of the Throat of the World. After that, I moved slower. The snow had gotten beneath my heavy woolen tunic and hood and melted against my warm, pale skin as I climbed up the dizzyingly high peak.
I stopped and made an offering at each of the small shrines that appeared from the haze of snow and wind. They had inscriptions that described the famous tale of the Dragon War, and Jurgen Windcaller's eventual "understanding" of the Thu'um. I didn't really consider shouting at the sky for the rest of my life without ever uttering another word much of an understanding though. It seemed to me that the Thu'um was more of a weapon, not a means to speak to the gods.
I had heard the stories growing up of Tiber Septim's climb up this insufferable rock. It doesn't seem like much of a feat when you hear the tale. I'd rather spend a whole day fighting Dragons than hike through a blizzard to meet four old men who probably wouldn't even talk to you. At least the dragons breathe fire. The only fire I got was the torch that had been knocked from my grasp when I had a little tangle with a frost troll.
After what felt like an eternity, I looked up to see the familiar shape of Talos of Atmora, and realized that I had achieved my goal. I gave a quick prayer to the first Emperor and placed the dried food in the offering chest at the foot of the keep. I climbed up the final few steps to the doors and entered the dark, musky stronghold of High Hrothgar.
It took me a minute to adjust to the sudden darkness of the room, and another minute to regain feeling in my extremities. I removed my hood and my cloak.
"So, a Dragonborn appears, at the turning of the age." Startled, I spun around quickly and reached for my shield. "Fear not. I am Arengier. Speaker of the Greybeards."
The small man who addressed me as Dragonborn wore a tattered grey robe and a hood that covered most of his wrinkled head. Behind him, three more monks stood silently. There robes looked a lot warmer and dryer than mine.
"What is it you seek Dragonborn?" said Arengier.
"I want to know what it means to be Dragonborn."
"We can teach you. We've been watching you. Ever since you crossed the border from High Rock."
I had been fleeing the gaze of the Thalmor when General Tulius and his soldiers caught me and took me to Helgen. I narrowly escaped the town after a Dragon burned it to the ground. We had just recovered from that ordeal when Jarl Balgruf sent me to slay a dragon that was attacking a watchtower. After I did with the help of only 4 of Whiterun's finest soldiers, it's skin peeled off and I apparently absorbed it's soul. I heard the voice of the Greybeards, and was sent to the remote town of Ivarstead to climb the 7,000 steps. This better be worth it.