Originally written for the Skyrim Kink Meme
Warning: Spoilers ahoy!
"You were not invited here. You are not welcome here."
Perhaps it was his imagination, but Einarth was fairly certain he saw the Dragonborn flinch before dropping her gaze to the floor. The statement was not meant for her, but Arngeir's disapproval of her association with the Blades was palpable.
"We have as much right to be at this council as all of you." The woman ploughed on, "More, actually, since we were the ones that put the Dragonborn on this path."
There was no mistaking the expression on the girl's face this time. Her shame was plainly visible to anyone who saw her…
"Were you? The hubris of the Blades truly knows no bounds."
Well, he quietly amended, it was obvious to everyone but Arngeir. The look he leveled at the girl, while he addressed the female Blade, was completely unnecessary. Einarth knew the child well enough to realize that she had already been punishing herself for this summit. It was entirely possible she had been doing so before she had even mustered the courage to request the assistance of the Greybeards. At this moment however, the girl kept her silence, even as the older woman continued to press the issue...
"If it were up to you, the Dragonborn would sit dreaming on this mountain doing nothing!"
It was then that her companion cut in, "Delphine, we're not here to rehearse old grudges." He then turned to address Arngeir. "The matter at hand is urgent. Alduin must be stopped. You wouldn't have called this council if you didn't agree. We know a great deal about the situation and the threat that Alduin poses to us all. You need us here if you want this council to succeed."
At last, a voice of reason. Einarth surmised that it might have been this man, and not Delphine, whose council the Dragonborn child had sought. He may not have appreciated the source, but he did not need to in order to recognize the pragmatism driving the man's words. The man may be a Blade, but he had demonstrated good sense and an understanding of what was at stake. He was a bit... dramatic perhaps, but it might prove advantageous to have a well spoken participant whose position was relatively neutral in the proceedings. Be that as it may, Einarth knew that it was not his place to speak for the Greybeards. The girl would have to speak up, and soon, if she wanted the Blades present at this event.
She did not get the opportunity, for Arngeir heaved a sigh and granted them entrance, and the Blades moved past the old masters into the room that would host the assembly. The child made no move to follow them, but stood before her teacher, struggling to find words with which to speak to him. This time too, Arngeir did not give her the chance. "So, you've done it. The men of violence are gathered here, in these halls whose very stones are dedicated to peace."
At that, the girl's eyes snapped up to meet Arngeir's as he continued to lament the turn of events. "I should not have agreed to host this council. The Greybeards have no business involving ourselves in such matters."
"Don't worry. I"ll get them to agree to peace." As she spoke, Einarth saw that she had not allowed herself to hide behind necessity, even if it was truth; the girl would not be able to secure Jarl Balgruuf's aid without a peace treaty. Saying so might have spared her some of Arngeir's displeasure, but she was Dragonborn, and she did not shy away from difficulty.
Arngeir gave a mirthless chuckle. "Peace? I doubt it. They may put their weapons down for a moment, but only to gather strength for the next bloodletting. They are not yet tired of war. Far from it. Do you know the ancient Nord word for war? 'Season Unending...' So it has proved."
The girl quirked a sad smile at that, and for a moment, they shared a look of commiseration as Arngeir ushered her forward. "But regrets are pointless. Here we are. Take your seat at the council table and let us see what wisdom we can find among these warriors of Skyrim."
As the stragglers moved into position at last, Einarth sighed inwardly. It was a rare moment when Arngeir and the Dragonborn were of the same mind, and it was not for lack of effort on the girl's part. She was blessed by the gods, as was her birthright, and (unlike many favored beings) was possessed of a self-awareness that granted her wisdom beyond her years. Her openness and humility might have been unexpected from one of her ilk, but life had seen fit to burden her with extraordinary responsibilities. Responsibilities that could not, and would not, be denied. But to say that she had borne such difficulty with grace would have been… insufficient. Perhaps 'endured' was a better word for it. One does not go with joy to a probable death.
The day she had arrived upon the doorsteps of High Hrothgar, they had mistaken her for a simple deliveryman. The villagers of Ivarstead often left tribute to the Greybeards, as did the occasional pilgrim, and the Dragonborn had trudged up the seven thousand steps bearing such as well. Even when she had presented herself, she bore a largely unassuming appearance, save for a lingering fear in her eyes. When she Shouted, it had been with consternation, and when she spoke, she had all but begged for answers.
Arngeir had shared her dismay, but his stemmed from a very different source. The girl was a far cry from what the fabled hero of legend could have been expected to be. She was small, and not particularly gifted in either the art of war or magic. Furthermore, the prophesied Hero of Skyrim was not even a child of Skyrim. Indeed, the ways of the Nords were almost barbaric to her at first, but she could hardly be faulted for her fear given the nature of her arrival; only Sheogorath could have found being wrongfully sentenced to death charming. The timing of her visit was rather unfortunate, but destiny seems to have played no small part in this; she claimed to have been kneeling upon the chopping block, moments away from death, when Alduin himself had appeared and razed Helgen to the ground. Einarth suppressed a snort. If that was truly the way it happened, then it seems fair to say that Akatosh had a decidedly heavy-handed way of announcing the potential doom of Tamriel to his chosen.
The girl had accepted her destiny without much complaint, but it was evident that she did not feel as though she had any choice in the matter. Arngeir too, had seemed resigned to his duty to instruct her, and made little effort to understand the one who would likely become his greatest student. Perhaps he never would, for Arngeir still mourned his past failure with another student: Ulfric.
Ulfric had been a son in all but blood to him, but the boy was not suited to this life. Even before The Great War, it was obvious that the boy was far too passionate for the life of study and reflection that his master hoped he would follow. Ulfric had simply had too much of his father in him to not be lured by the stories of great men and their gloried feats.
It was this same passion however, that had made him a joy to teach, despite his impulsiveness. The boy had arrived, not with with fear and dismay, but with eagerness and awe. His father had instilled within him a profound reverence for the old heroes and their ways, and the pride in his stance, even as he bowed before them, was unmistakable. He was born to be a leader of men, and Arngeir had hoped to shape the boy into a man who would eventually lead the Greybeards when the time came.
Indeed, the boy had become a leader, but not the one that Arngeir had wished for. The disappointment had weighed heavily upon them all, but it was Arngeir who had taken it the hardest. Sorrow was not an emotion easily displayed by Nords, and Einarth often wondered that if he had shown the boy what he had truly felt… Would Ulfric have stayed? It was easier to turn one's back on anger directed towards them, and the bitterness of the days leading up to his departure only served to poison everything they had shared prior.
The irony of it was not lost on the junior Greybeard: Arngeir had always been the most passionate of them, and though he had grown since, his path to wisdom had always been at odds with his nature. The difference was that Ulfric had felt the call of the world below too keenly. Lacking such impetus, Arngeir had channeled his passion into mastery of the Voice. For all they had said about the other, they were not so different as they believed.
Einarth sighed as he moved to stand at the far end of the room. He had no desire take part in this, but it was necessary for the Greybeards to help the Dragonborn mediate this mess. The girl needed people supporting her throughout this ordeal, people who could actually be present in the way that the grandmaster, Paarthurnax, could not. Arngeir certainly could not be counted upon to support her. If anything, the man hardly approved of anything she did outside of study and meditation. This could be acceptable if it helped their leader maintain his neutrality, but if the mild-mannered girl had to reign in tempers at the council... Einarth was uncertain as to how much of his authority the Elder would be willing to lend her. After all, Arngeir hadn't wanted this meeting to happen at all. It had been Paarthurnax who had made the decision.
Paarthurnax…
The old man shifted uncomfortably, as though he feared even thinking about the Grandmaster in the presence of such bloodthirsty people would reveal their most carefully guarded secrets. What would they do, he wondered, if they knew that their Dragonborn was a disciple of Alduin's dreaded second-in-command? It was a line of thought that did not bear consideration. No one who followed the Way of the Voice voice would betray the one who had helped bring about not only their order, but the downfall of the World Eater. It was an act of courage worthy of respect; one that brought their master pain. That the old dragon could overcome his nature was proof that he was worthy, and even if he had accomplished nothing else, it would have been enough.
Well, Einarth amended again, enough for anyone with a measurable amount of compassion. It was a bitter thought. He suspected that no one who had answered the Dragonborn's call could see the significance of such sacrifice. Truthfully, he had worried a little when the girl prepared to meet the Master for the first time: she was, after all, a born dragon killer. The energy has been wasted however, for the child had forged a bond with The Old One. Perhaps he was getting old, but Einarth found the solace that the lost child and the weary soul found together comforting. Such sentiment bordered on the saccharin, but it could be forgiven. On a more serious note, it meant that the child would protect Paarthurnax from whatever ills might befall him. Such as the Blades. It was unfortunate that they had learned of the true nature of their master. The girl swore that she had not breathed a word to them, but how it happened, was of little import. She knew where her loyalties lay, and even Arngeir had been impressed with her fury. The shy thing had been beside herself, and while Einarth had been proud, he saw a flicker of something on the other Greybeard's face. It was the second time they had witnessed such righteous anger, and the sudden similarity had been a bittersweet reminder of the lost disciple.
Would Ulfric have felt the same way on this matter?
He swept his gaze across the room before reluctantly settling his eyes upon the boy he once knew. Grim thoughts came to the elder as he studied the former student. Einarth did not fail to notice that when the girl had spoken of the world below, she had chosen to be diplomatic in her assessment of Ulfric. She had been rather reluctant to say that Ulfric had deliberately broken their teachings, but they had heard his Thu'um. Her embarrassment on the boy's- man's behalf, while touching, had done nothing to assuage Arngeir's outrage and grief. Truly, the boy was lost to them. It was a sentiment that seemed to weigh upon them still. Arngeir spared his former protegé little more than the barest of acknowledgements, even as he began the talks in earnest:
"Now that everyone is here, please take your seats so we can begin. I hope that we have all come here in the spirit of…"
"No."
The Dragonborn bristled at the interruption. Einarth vaguely recalled her saying that Ulfric claimed to have "nothing but the greatest respect" for the Greybeards, but for him to actually cut off his former master before anything had yet to occur…!
"You insult us by bringing her to this negotiation? Your chief Talos-hunter?" Ulfric spat.
There it was. The boy had loved his heroes, and the White-Gold Concordat had been an attempt by the Aldmeri Dominion to take them from him. Even so, this… brash behavior was unseemly, and out of place for the purposes of this meeting. A meeting that, though barely begun, was already getting out of hand...
"That didn't take long."
"Hear, hear!"
"Diplomatic as usual..."
"I have every right to be at this negotiation-"
"You can't dictate who I bring to this council…!"
Amidst the rising cacophony, Einarth took the opportunity to examine Ulfric. He was disturbed by what he saw: gone was the earnest face, the inquisitive eyes, the hopeful outlook. Even the sly, sidelong looks signaling mischief, were preferable to this. The world had not been kind to him, and the man wore the marks more openly than he might have known: his eyes burned with hatred and his whole body tensed... but it was the sheer venom in a voice that was once cultivated to utter praise and worship, that truly cut the old man. That the boy would take such a blessing and twist it into something so base…
Perhaps, Einarth bitterly reflected, Arngeir was right to regret taking that boy in.
"Please. If we have to negotiate the terms of the negotiation, we will never get anywhere. Perhaps this would be a good time to get the Dragonborn's input on this matter."
Well. He certainly hadn't expected Arngeir to call upon the girl to settle the matter. And he certainly hadn't expected her to actually be able talk the upstart down. A smile actually pulled at his mouth at that, and hope stirred within him. Granted, it wasn't much, but then the elf soured whatever amusement he might have found in the incident, by taking a none too subtle jab at the boy. Ulfric, for his part, could not help but take the bait. Einarth pursed his lips. For all that they had worked to instill patience and caution in the boy, it seemed to have come to nothing. And yet, it was painfully clear that none of the individuals gathered here wanted the Thalmor Agent there. Not even the Imperials. Politics.
Arngeir addressed the gathering again. "Now that that's settled, may we proceed?"
"I have something to say first." Einarth felt a rush of exasperation at yet another interruption from Ulfric. It seemed he was not alone in this sentiment, for one of the Imperials muttered something under her breath. The old man wished he could see the Dragonborn's expression, but judging from the barest tilt of her head, he imagined that she was far from impressed.
"The only reason I agreed to attend this council, was to deal with the dragon menace. There's nothing else to talk about. Unless the Empire is finally ready to renounce it's unjust claim to rule over the free people of Skyrim. We're here to arrange a temporary truce to allow the Dragonborn here, to deal with the dragons. Nothing more. I consider even talking to the Empire a generous gesture."
What was he playing at? Such pointless posturing served no purpose. If the boy hoped to model his behavior after that of Skyrim's heroes, it was a poor imitation. Perhaps even a mockery. The only thing such grandstanding accomplished was demonstrate his insecurity. Arngeir had maintained a largely stone-faced composure, but the set of his jaw betrayed his emotions. Einarth felt sympathy for his peer, though he did not share the depth of his pain. A pain that had surely been renewed in light of his disciple's behavior.
Arngeir was notably short in his third attempt to begin the meeting. "Are we ready to proceed?"
This time, there were no interruptions, and the elder continued: "Jarl Ulfric. General Tullius. This council is unprecedented. We are gathered here at the Dragonborn's request. I ask that you all respect the spirit of High Hrothgar, and do your best to begin the process of achieving lasting peace in Skyrim. Who would like to open the negotiations?"
Yet again, it was the boy who spoke first. Einarth suspected that he was beginning to feel the onset of a headache.
"We want control of Markarth. That's our price for agreeing to a truce."
That impudent…!
He might have staggered, for all Einarth knew. The ferocity of the boy's avarice was beyond comprehension. What sort of man would allow such pettiness to override the gravity of the situation? If they failed to secure a truce, the Dragonborn could not stop the World Eater! She would not be able to get near enough to even make an attempt. And the God of Destruction could NOT be allowed to escape again. As one who had immersed himself in Skyrim's most revered traditions and lore, Ulfric had no excuse for his behavior. If even one who had studied the prophecies did not care, what hope was there to be had of the others?
The old man grit his jaw in frustration. What could he say to those warriors and politicians to sway them? What would compel the minds of those who played with the lives of others and valued so little? How could he even speak to them at all? His very voice was a weapon, honed through years of training, and he lacked the level of mastery that Arngeir had reached. No, he could do nothing. It was not even his place to do something. And as a Greybeard, speaking out might be viewed as a sign that the elders were not in fact, a neutral party in all this. It would have rendered the sacrifice of tainting the halls of High Hrothgar invalid. So he raged quietly, as both sides turned on each other and themselves.
It was the new Jarl of Solitude who spoke out this time. "So that's why you're here, Ulfric? You dare to insult the Greybeards by using this council to advance your own position?"
He quirked an eye at that. Perhaps there were a few who still respected the Greybeards, but for a defense to have come from one outside the order, to one who had been a member, was shameful.
Tullius attempted to cut her off. "Jarl Elisif, I'll handle this."
"General, this is outrageous! You can't be taking this demand seriously! I thought we were here to discuss a truce!"
A wry smile smile tugged at his lips. This "Elisif" was a fiery one. The Dragonborn had spoken of her in passing, but had not been terribly impressed. The girl had seemed to consider the widow a friend, and Einarth wondered how the girl could find the lady wanting. She was not wrong in her understanding of what they hoped to accomplish here, though perhaps a touch naive. He could respect her indignation, but her effort to take Ulfric to task for his attempt to subvert the purpose of this meeting was… less polished than one might expect of the wife of the late High King. Still, polished or not, it mattered little: the damage had been done. Whatever objectives this meeting accomplished, a lasting peace would not be among them. This petty squabble over territory ensured that. There was no conceivable way that the people gathered here would be willing to let their perceived property go for long.
"Elisif! I said I'd handle it." The general then turned to address the Jarl of Windhelm, "Ulfric, you can't seriously expect us to give up Markarth at the negotiating table. You hope to gain in council what you've been unable to take in battle, is that it?"
Einarth was not sure whether to be more impressed or wary of this warrior. While Tullius lacked Ulfric's grand style, he spoke with the careful words and inflection of a politician; the hallmarks of a dangerous man of uncertain allegiance. It was clear from his brief exchange with Elisif, who was truly the one in power. Small wonder why the Dragonborn was wary of both sides in this war. Though the child felt that this was not her war, or even her country, she did not want to turn Skyrim over to a side she did not trust. What the girl wanted however, did not matter: this truce was going to be determined by trading holds and the people who lived in them. Taking part in this business meant that she would be called upon to settle the score in the end. It was only a matter of time now, and Einarth wondered if the girl realized that. If not, she would doubtless learn very soon, if the anger expressed by the Jarls was any indication.
"I'm sure Jarl Ulfric does not expect something for nothing." Arngeir said dryly.
More muttering from the Imperial Nord seated to the Dragonborn's left. He had to wonder at the frequent sarcasm directed at Ulfric. The wayward disciple was certainly frustrating, but the constant grumbling was starting to look personal. He did not have much time to ponder the thought, for Arngeir had pressed forward, ignoring the woman, in favor of brokering an exchange. "What would the Empire want in return?" When the general paused, the responses from his constituents were furious and swift. The Dragonborn tensed at Jarl Balgruuf's caustic reaction, and Einarth worried on the girl's behalf. If the man left now, their efforts would be for nothing. And, he supposed, the child feared losing the jarl's esteem: Balgruuf had looked past her unjustly given criminal status without question, and set her on the path towards her destiny. It would be a terrible blow for her to lose his respect.
"Enough!" the general snapped. "First let's be clear: this council wasn't my idea. I think it's a waste of time."
The Greybeard heard, rather than saw, the creak of the girl's leather gloves. She had probably balled her hands into fists at this latest insult, and Einarth worried at how much more stress she could take. What would she do if they could not broker a truce?
Ulfric seemed no less incensed than the Dragonborn, "Master Arngeir, are you just going to let him continue to-"
"You are a traitor to the Empire and deserve a traitor's death. But I at least will negotiate in good faith." Tullius, it seemed, had some grandstanding of his own to do, though it seemed to be more for his delegation than anything else. He then turned to the Dragonborn and asked her to determine the value of the trade. She started briefly, and took a calming breath as she considered her answer. The old man found himself resenting the Imperial, but he had to concede the skill with which he dealt the girl a terrible hand: the man had wasted few words trying to position himself favorably in the eyes of those present, and then had swiftly dropped the responsibility for the trade on the Dragonborn. If she chose poorly, it would damn her to one or both parties, and at best she could only hope for begrudging compliance. The fact that she had to choose at all damned her, for it meant she could not hide behind the choices of others. The girl was now not only responsible for this meeting, but for everything that went into this treaty. She would be responsible for all the lives affected by it as well. Well played, you conniving...
Slowly, the girl spoke, "How about Riften?"
The Imperial considered the idea, and seemed to approve of her choice. But Einarth could not be certain of the trade, for Ulfric and his second stood up from their seats in anger. Of course, the general could not resist a jab of his own, at that. "You heard what she said, Ulfric. We've made you a fair offer. Are you serious about these talks or are you just here to posture?"
The Jarl of Windhelm ignored him and accosted the girl. "I expected better from you Dragonborn. I came here in good faith, and now it seems you help the Empire at every turn." He did not allow the girl a chance to defend her decision, and launched into another tirade: "As for you, General Tullius. I see now that Galmar was right: talking to the Empire is just as useless as ever. If you think you can hold Markarth, you're as deluded as your emperor was when he signed away our freedom to the Thalmor. Skyrim will never again bow to your false empire! Let's go Galmar. I should have listened to you in the first place."
When Ulfric turned to leave, the girl seemed to have recovered from her shock. Alarm filled Einarth as she grabbed the table and made to stand. She looked furious, and he worried at what she might do until the general spoke up, unable to resist a parting shot. Whatever fight she might have had in her utterly deflated in that moment, and Einarth saw the girl turn desperately to face Arngeir, himself at a loss for words. Einarth closed his eyes in resignation. As loath as he was to even think it, Ulfric's companion may not have been too far off from the truth. Perhaps it truly was hopeless to try to reason with warriors…
"Stop! Are you so blind to the danger, that you can't see past your petty disagreements?"
It was Delphine's companion who spoke, and Einarth dared to hope that the man might be able to salvage the situation. "Here you sit arguing about nothing! While the fate of the land hangs in the balance!"
"Is he with you, Delphine? If so, I advise you to tell him to watch his tongue." Ulfric did not bother to hide his disdain for the old man, and his voice dripped with disgust.
The Blade's response was sharp. "He is with me. And I advise you both to listen to what he has to say, before you do anything rash." Her companion resumed his speech after her reprimand:
"Don't you understand the danger? Don't you understand what the return of the dragons means? Alduin has returned! The World-Eater! Even now, he devours the souls of your fallen comrades! He grows more powerful with every soldier slain in your pointless war! Can you not put aside your hatred for even one moment in the face of this mortal danger?"
'That Talos hunter' did little to contain her scorn. "A very pretty speech, but what does it have to do with-"
"Shut up." Ulfric turned away from the elf he abhorred so much. "If he's right about Alduin... we both have just as much to lose here, Tullius, remember that."
"I don't know about the end of the world, but this dragon situation has gotten out of hand. If this truce will help the Dragonborn here put an end to that menace, we both gain." The general seemed skeptical, but as an outsider who was willing to negotiate, his inability to accept the magnitude of Skyrim's prophecies might be overlooked. This time, at least. Einarth suspected that the man did not care much for the province he had been sent to deal with. It was a worrying thought. He put it aside however, in order to observe the talks. There would be plenty of time to consider the implications of this treaty later…
The rest of the meeting progressed without serious incident. Arngeir was eventually able to lay out the terms of the treaty, and though both sides could not resist taking a final jab, it was ratified and the endeavor concluded. It was hardly surprising when both parties had stated that this was only a temporary agreement, but at least they had been open about their intent for once. Einarth wondered just how long she could put off becoming further enmeshed in the war. After everything that had transpired this day, she could not possibly avoid it indefinitely. For now at least, the participants parted on civil terms. Ulfric had even granted the Dragonborn the barest acknowledgement of her fairness as he departed the room.
Not everyone was pleased with the outcome however. The elf had remained impassive, and Elisif had seemed satisfied, but Balgruuf minced no words, "Giving up Markarth was a heavy price for this truce, Dragonborn. I hope it was worth it." The Dragonborn held his gaze, and the Jarl seemed to accept the resolve in her stance.
Einarth saw the girl take a moment to lean back and sigh. It was a pleasant surprise, to see the Imperial soldier who had grumbled at Ulfric lean over and give her a supportive squeeze on the shoulder. "I hope this truce gives you what you need. It won't last." The Dragonborn turned to the woman, and they shared a grim smile. Perhaps the Legionnaire was not as disagreeable as he'd first thought.
Arngeir quickly turned the remaining company to the task for which this peace was arranged. "Jarl Balgruuf, I assume you are familiar with the Dragonborn's plan?"
"Yes. I am ready to do my part. Just say the word, and my men will help you spring this trap."
"But the difficulty remains: how to lure a dragon to Dragonsreach at all?"
Salient point or no, Einarth cared not. Just how poorly did Arngeir regard the Dragonborn for him to put her on the spot like this? Especially when he knew the girl had thrown all her energies into convincing these people to even be in the same room at all!
"Well, that's an excellent question! You haven't overlooked that little detail, have you?" There was a dangerous edge to the general's voice. The Imperial delegation's collective eyes bored into the girl, and Einarth found rage quickly replacing the shocked stupor that the carelessness-or was it callousness?-that his peer's words had induced in him. What was he thinking?! If he discredited the girl now, the Dragonborn could be reduced to little more than a laughing stock at best. Who would listen to her then? What help would they allow her to provide? Would she be marked as irredeemably undependable? Would they use and sacrifice the girl in a misguided sense of self-preservation? And what of the treaty? Would it fall apart, aborted as it were, by the actions of the Greybeards?
It was the male Blade who came to the girl's rescue:
"I believe I can be of help here."
Something in Einarth seized, and he prayed that the man would be able to sway the gathering again.
"I anticipated the problem. While you were arranging the meeting, I was busy in the library of Sky Haven Temple. An unguessed trove of lost lore… but the important thing is that the Blades recorded many of the names of the dragons they slew. Cross-referencing this with Delphine's map of dragon burial sites, I believe I've identified one of the dragons that Alduin has raised up."
The Dragonborn quickly jumped upon the information, and a plan was formulated soon after. The panic that had begun to build in the Greybeard subsided, and Einarth marveled at the irony present in the day's events. Peace had been upheld- rescued even! - by the actions of the Blades, agents of violence, and not the Greybeards, who maintained lives of peace... It was a humbling revelation, and though he detested their ways, the elder accepted it without malice. Thank the divines that the girl had sought their counsel. Or rather, the wisdom that one of the Blades possessed. Einarth had an inkling of whose idea it was to kill the grandmaster. Indeed, no sooner had the Dragonborn solidified plans to capture the dragon called "Odahviing," the woman approached her to press the issue again. He was proud to see that the girl held firm, even when Delphine had called her ungrateful. But it was worth noting perhaps, that the Blade was not truly angry. Mutual disappointment seemed to be what connected them now, and the Greybeard wondered how much the loss of their companionship hurt the child. The Dragonborn thanked them and bade them farewell, and Einarth himself nodded at their uncertain glance in his direction.
As the last of the Imperial party began the journey down the seven thousand steps, the Greybeard wondered where the Stormcloaks had gone. They had not seen footsteps heading back to the small village below when they had opened the front doors. Einarth shared a look with Arngeir, and at his nod, began to search the halls for their former student and his second. He had not thought that he would ever find himself trying to find the boy hiding yet again in the cold halls of High Hrothgar. A small smile tinged with sorrow surfaced, as the old man thought back on better days.
Such a shame, really. The boy had shown so much promise. That the one Arngeir had chosen would turn into the man he did, was distressing to say the least. Perhaps they should have seen the possibility, but who could rightly say? Ulfric had always been strong, stubborn, and always searching for more. What it was exactly the boy had been seeking, he could not be certain. But whatever it was he set off to do, whatever it was he set out to be… None of that had happened. He could hardly believe what he saw today.
He tried to think of when their old student had been spiteful or petty, and found nothing. Even the anger he saw today was nothing like the anger the boy had had when he had been frustrated with some teaching or other. It was nothing like the anger born of a sense of honor and duty he had seen when the boy rejected their admonitions of peace to fight in the Great War. There had even been compassion- a trait that had been notably missing when he had attacked the woman he widowed, and the girl who tried to bring peace in Skyrim, however brief it might prove to be.
The way of the warrior had surely destroyed the best of him. But even the Blade that the girl had looked up to had found peace and wisdom. And there were many great men who possessed both valor and charity. What could have possibly happened differently for the boy? Perhaps the world had been too hard for someone so bright and hopeful. But if so, how was it that his honor permitted his current behavior? What could have so warped his view of the world that he could not see truth for what it was?
Voices. There were voices in the courtyard, and though his feet carried him to the door, Einarth stopped when he saw the former protege and the initiate standing side by side.
"I've never cared for the cold," the girl began, "but the view is worth it."
Ulfric scoffed, "Nords are not bothered by such things."
"I don't have your natural resilience," she returned. "Doesn't that mean I could love this more than a Nord, since I risk more to be here?"
He visibly stiffened. "Are you saying that foreigners have more right to Skyrim than Skyrim's children?"
"No, that is NOT what I'm trying to say, and you know it."
"I'm not certain I do, Dragonborn." Ulfric said sardonically, "Would you be so gracious as to enlighten me?"
"You're impossible," the girl huffed. Einarth could not see Ulfric's face, but the Greybeard didn't need to in order to imagine the self-satisfied smirk he must have been wearing, in response to the girl's irritation. For all his charisma, is the boy as terrible with women as he is at diplomacy? Or is it just her? he thought dryly.
The girl took a breath before trying again. "I'm just trying to say that this is beautiful. And that I haven't forgotten what you said."
"And what was it that you believe I said?"
"You said you'd 'retire from the world' when fighting was no longer necessary. But could you really come back to this? Would you really want to?" She faced him directly this time, silently demanding an answer.
Ulfric barely turned his head to address her. "If you think I would turn down the chance to return to a life of peace and contemplation, you would be very much mistaken."
"I don't believe you."
He was rather taken aback by the girl's response. "You doubt my sincerity?"
"No, I doubt your perspective." She looked at him rather pointedly when she said so.
"You think I do not see the oppression of Skyrim's people for what it is?"
The girl sighed and turned back to the horizon. "That's just it. You simply won't let it be what it is."
Now the Jarl was angry. "Is that why you do nothing? Why you do not care?"
"I hardly think hunting the World-Eater is 'nothing.'" she said wryly. "And you can't say that I don't care: I'm still fighting, aren't I? I'm still fighting, even though I've already driven him from Tamriel. Sovngarde is not my afterlife, and it is not the souls of my heroes and kin he devours... but I'm putting and end to that, too."
"That is your destiny as Dragonborn." he dismissed. "But what of Skyrim? What of the land that gave birth to and nurtured your legend? Do you feel nothing for her? For her people? Would you abandon her to the hands of an empire that allows her enemies to devour her soul?"
The Dragonborn was very quiet. It looked as though she wasn't going to answer until she finally spoke. "You're a damned hypocrite, Ulfric. I'm fighting for Skyrim, but it isn't your Skyrim. I can't. You won't let me."
"Of course I would. Prove your worth and swear your loyalty to me, and I would gladly have you fighting by my side."
"And why should I?" The force of her reply surprised the would-be king. "Why should I, when the Skyrim you envision is one that has no place for someone like me?"
"You are Dragonborn," he replied. "Of course you belong to Skyrim."
"Yes, the Dragonborn belongs to Skyrim," her tone was bitter. "But what about the person? Everywhere I go, it's 'Skyrim's for the Nords!' And I am not a Nord, in case you haven't noticed."
"Indeed you are not, but as the Dragonborn-"
"No." This time, she was positively acerbic. "You do NOT get to make exceptions for me. Not when it's to excuse the failings of my birth."
Well, Einarth thought darkly, this couldn't get any worse. The girl wasn't wrong on the matter, but if that was how she felt, then it would seem that she had already determined her position in the war. He feared that if Elisif was named High Queen, there would be a puppet ruler who could not defend Skyrim. On the other hand, there were other candidates, and if the Dragonborn supported them, there must be worthy individuals among the Legion. But that meant fighting Ulfric, and though his betrayal had cut deep, the old man still worried for the boy. He was too stubborn to surrender. He would probably embrace death all too easily if he was denied glory. And there was Arngeir to consider: what would the man do if one of his students killed the other?
"He still loves you, you know."
Both men stared at the Dragonborn upon her admission. Ulfric, clearly incredulous, warily questioned her, "What makes you think that? Did you not see what happened at the conference? He barely spoke to me at all."
"And how could he, when you went in there with the spirit of battle?" she replied. The boy looked like he would have liked to respond, but he held his tongue, and the girl continued, "I can see why you're his favorite. You are everything a Nord should be. If you were the Dragonborn, everything would have been so much simpler."
This time, the boy did respond. "I went against the teachings of the Greybeards. Surely, I could not be his 'favorite' as you said."
"Does a father stop loving his son even when he believes he has lost him?" she countered. "I spend a lot of time training here, and I often see the pain in his eyes. When I'm too passive, he disapproves. When I'm too enthusiastic, he mourns. When I leave, he never says goodbye. And when I return, he always determines the purpose of my visit before anything else."
The girl tilted her head back so her face was upturned to the sky, and Einarth suspected that she was doing her best to withhold tears.
"You tell me. Who else could he possibly be thinking of?"
There were no words in the common tongue that could even begin to express the anger and dismay that the Greybeard felt. He could have cursed himself for having been so blind to the Dragonborn's plight. She was ill-suited to embody the ideals of the Nords but, he had utterly taken for granted the idea that the girl, generous as she was, would have had friends. It seemed that she enjoyed little meaningful companionship of any sort, and that should not have been a surprise either. She did spend many weeks traveling from one end of Skyrim to another after all, and though she might meet many people on her journey, such never-ending travel was not conducive to building strong relationships. The girl was not fond of mercenaries, and as far as he was aware, there was only one person with whom the girl was in regular contact. A dark-haired, female, Nord warrior whose name escaped him. The few times that she had accompanied the Dragonborn to High Hrothgar, the stoic woman had opted to wait near the entrance until the girl had concluded her business. The only hitch in her otherwise deferential attitude being her exasperation when tasked with the mundane.
For all the prestige, wealth, and power that came with being a chosen of the gods, the Dragonborn was completely and truly alone. Was there anywhere she felt at home? Was there anywhere she felt at peace?
He had believed that the girl enjoyed the peace and quiet of the mountain, but the Greybeard found himself beginning to suspect that as well. Could she truly have been at peace while under the tutelage of one who did not even see her, even as he spoke to her? Einarth found himself wanting to Shout more than he had ever wanted to before, and had this been an altogether different situation, he would have been horrified that he wanted to Shout at another sentient being. Arngeir had been more affected than he had thought, and Einarth wondered at what could have happened to the girl that would have made her so painfully perceptive of such behavior. To have failed in their duty to the Dragonborn to so great an extent… It was a wonder she kept returning at all. No one could fault her if she rejected their teachings. It would have been only natural, under the strain of such neglect. And yet, the Greybeard heard no malice her voice, laden though it was, with envy. He could hear the yearning in spite of it; feel the desire to live up to the hopes of others. Had she never felt worthy? Had she ever felt as though she were enough? Such insecurity never prevented her from completing her objectives, and there were many in Skyrim who would claim her as their champion. But what of the Dragonborn?
Worry subsumed his anger, as Einarth mulled over her words: "You are everything a Nord should be." Did she truly believe that? It did not bode well, for one so steadfast, to hold in such high esteem, one so broken. She was well aware of his failings, so what was it about the fallen disciple that compelled her? What did she see in him that made her feel so inadequate? Was it her desire to earn Arngeir's approval? Or was it something else? The Greybeard trained his gaze upon the man in question. Seeing the hardened warrior standing there, looking like a lost little boy, was strangely nostalgic. It reminded him of the days when the impetuous boy had finally begun to see the merits of meditating on the Words, but struggled to achieve the inner stillness required...
"Master Arngeir, are you just going to..."
A hazy thought suddenly came into focus: The girl may understand longing and loss as well as, if not better, than Arngeir and Ulfric. Was it sympathy that gave her such insight? It was a trait not held in high regard by the Nords, for Skyrim was a harsh, unforgiving land. It has been said that only a Nord was stubborn enough to carve a living out of Skyrim's tough soil, and while such a feat was not beyond the other races, the statement was indicative of the Nordic temperament. Stolid resolve in the face of hardship gave them a sense of community like few other cultures, and there were few other peoples you would want on your side when one must weather a crisis.
But this went beyond cultural identity. The Dragonborn was an outsider, one bound to them by the machinations of the gods, at once apart yet belonging to them… The child could have resented them for it. The people certainly made plenty of demands petty enough, even demeaning enough, to warrant it. But she had chosen to accept it all, going so far as to make excuses for her detractors. Such generosity would have been admirable, if it weren't so painfully clear how little her own well-being meant to her.
"Tell me, Ulfric. Why do you fight?"
Cold fear took root in the old man's heart. Was the girl simply looking for something to die for? Was she truly without hope?
Ulfric slowly came to himself while he fixed the Dragonborn with searching eyes. "You know my answer," he began carefully, "it is no different than when I last spoke of it in your presence." The girl kept her silence, and so he continued, "Why would you ask if you will not believe me?"
"Because it's not freedom you want." She opened her eyes then, and turned to the man beside her, voice full of sorrow, "You're looking for salvation. Skyrim is the arena you hope to earn it in."
Einarth was stunned. The girl understood- knew the boy better than Arngeir had. Perhaps even more than the boy himself did. It was a pain she was very well acquainted with, and the Greybeard realized that it was not mere sympathy that caused her to pursue charged discourse with Ulfric, but empathy. How else could she know the source of his discontent?
"You think me unworthy." Ulfric trembled with rage, but his voice was choked with an emotion he refused to acknowledge.
"No. If I condemned you, I would have to condemn myself, too."
"And what do you mean by that?"
"We're failures, and nothing will change that. But I don't believe- I can't believe- that we don't deserve a second chance! Not after everything we've done. I think we might deserve it more than others, but that may be my selfishness talking."
"What sort of crime would make the Dragonborn of all people wish for redemption?"
The girl turned away from him then. "Please. Don't."
"I have a right to know what sort of 'hero' Skyrim is getting!" he challenged.
"I never wanted this!"
"With your power, could you choose to be any less a monster than the World Eater himself?"
"You have no right...!" The Dragonborn wheeled around and threw herself at the Jarl. Years of experience caused him to immediately reach for his sword, but she was faster than his honed reflexes. She seized his robes with both hands and pulled herself to him, "... no right to judge me after what you did in the Great War!"
Both men became as still as the stones around them. Einarth scrutinized the would-be king, looking for any sign of shame, or pride, or anything at all that would help him discern what the Dragonborn spoke of. He simply couldn't fathom what his former student could have done that would warrant such an uncharacteristically violent response from the girl. Ulfric for his part, stared at her, and though he seemed shocked beyond words, he squared his shoulders as though bracing himself.
It was an attack that would never arrive, for the girl closed her eyes and dropped her head on the man's chest. "I don't blame you," she said brokenly, "I know what Thalmor do to their prisoners."
Ulfric's voice was dangerously low, "What could you possibly know of what the Thalmor do to their prisoners?"
"Only what I have seen with my own eyes." It was almost a whisper, but the old man heard, and anguish filled him. What unspeakable horror had they both shared?
The Jarl was of a different mind altogether. He seized her shoulders and forced her to face him directly. "Then you knew. You knew, and yet you allowed her to stay?!"
"If I sent her away to spare your feelings, that would have only made you look petty and weak." The girl continued vehemently, "If you could stomach her presence, those in attendance who suspected or knew of your mutual history, would not have anything substantial enough to show that she still exerted control over you."
Ulfric however, was not impressed by such astuteness. "Is that what you call helping?!"
"Do you think I want to face her again, either?"
He had no response to that.
Perhaps it was the fighting that had drawn him, for it was at that moment that Ulfric's frantic second in command appeared. Einarth supposed the expression on his face must have been quite the sight, for the man's desperate anger faltered before it. If he had been rather less agitated, the elder might have been pleased to have successfully intimidated such a bear of a man. But it seemed that he would be deprived of the ability to freely exult in such a small thing, for Galmar's eyes had followed the Greybeard's line of sight to the couple in the courtyard… and completely misread the situation. The triumphant leer on the warrior's face was simply too much. And yet, the Greybeard had to concede, the scene before him did indeed look like something out of a story: a lone man and woman standing amidst the wind and snow, on the face of the highest mountain in Tamriel… now if only they weren't locked in a mockery of an embrace, trading barbs rather than comfort…
The arrival of the housecarl however, alerted the two in the courtyard to their audience. The girl released Ulfric's robes as though she were burnt. Ulfric was less hasty, but made no move to back away from her. He seemed to be choosing his words carefully, and perhaps avoid discussing the previous subject in the open.
"I thought you supported the Empire. Why would you help me?"
"The Empire needs Skyrim, but as a whole does not care for her."
"And you do?"
"Legate Rikke certainly does."
"Why should that matter to you?"
"I would think it would matter more to you."
"It matters that you aren't answering my questions."
The girl sighed. "You wouldn't believe me even if I told you." She hazarded another one of her wry smiles, "I daresay you wouldn't care."
"Of course I care about what-"
"-the Dragonborn thinks?" she cut in bitterly.
"Not only that." Ulfric waited for her reluctant eyes to meet his, "I want to know what it is you're looking for."
The girl was silent for a moment. "I think," she began slowly, "that you and I don't want very different things, really."
"And what do you think those things are?"
"Things we're not very good at." She tried to laugh it off rather weakly, but Ulfric said nothing. The Dragonborn swallowed before continuing, "Having a place to call home, someone to look up to, and…" the girl hesitated briefly, "a reason to live."
The Jarl considered her words before he conceded slowly, "I suppose we aren't very good at any of those things."
"If it were possible… I would like to be."
Einarth was too busy studying the boy's face to fully appreciate the girl's ability to render him speechless. The failed-hermit simply stood there looking at her, perhaps only truly seeing her for the first time, his eyes full of unspoken questions. One question really, as he struggled with long buried (or was it forgotten?) emotions.
In any case, as much as he would have enjoyed watching them puzzle it out, he was not about to subject the two to his prying and… whatever it was Ulfric's guard was doing. Exasperated, the Greybeard huffed as gently as he could manage. Ulfric started, reflexively straightening up, before seeming to remember himself. Einarth was amused to see the man struggle to contain his indignation; the man was still a boy, even after all these years, and the elder was comforted by the knowledge.
As Ulfric turned away from her, the Dragonborn reached out to him. She faltered however, but the gesture was enough to give him pause. Her hand fell back to her side, as she spoke to the man gently, "You can have it all, Ulfric: Power, Wealth, Freedom... But you have to learn to see and accept truth wherever you find it. Especially when you find it in those you hate."
"You disapprove of the way I run Windhelm."
"Whoever and wherever they were, they're your people now, too."
"And what about you?"
"Show me a king I would die for, and I would give him everything he asked of me."
"Everything, you say?"
"If it's you… maybe."
"Only 'maybe' if it's me…"
"You know what I meant!"
"I'm not certain I do, Dragonborn." Once again, the words were drawled, but there was mirth this time around.
"You're insufferable, you know that?" The girl made a small, undignified noise, "I don't have to prove anything to you!"
A bark of laughter escaped Galmar, and while Einarth was less than pleased with the cause, he had no complaints with the result. Namely, that the boy stopped antagonizing the girl and finally made to leave. It was with a small but pleasant surprise that he noted a faint spark in his once dead eyes. Though whether it was due to the arrival of a worthy opponent and a good challenge, or something else, remained to be seen.
Still, the Greybeard could not suppress a smirk when Ulfric's newfound composure cracked at the sight of his second leering next to one of his old masters. "Master Einarth," he warily acknowledged. Einarth simply looked pointedly at Galmar, whose leer had turned into something too obscenely gleeful for polite company. Ulfric was swift to reprimand his second. The former student surveyed the halls, and finding no one, looked once more to the courtyard. The Dragonborn must have been satisfied with what she saw, for she nodded and turned once more to the view from the courtyard, and Ulfric departed with his companion in tow.
With the last remnants of the warring factions gone, silence descended upon the halls of High Hrothgar. Silence, but not peace. The Greybeard worried; whatever hopes the Dragonborn had in mind for her predecessor must be acted upon carefully. And while it had affected what might be a positive change, any misstep on her part had the potential to destroy the lost disciple more thoroughly than whatever had broken him before.
The Dragonborn did not move from her vantage point even as he went to stand beside her. She murmured a soft address, "Master Einarth." For a time, they stood in companionable silence, and he waited as she gathered her thoughts.
Eventually, she drew a breath and turned to the elder. "I suppose you want an explanation."
He merely arched a brow and looked at her expectantly.
"We're all being played."
Blunt. Without an audience, the girl was typically concise- often to the point of bludgeoning- with her words. Necessity had forced her to make an earnest effort to learn speechcraft, but she could be rather unwieldy at times. Like now. It was almost comical, how she could cut through to the heart of the matter, and then flounder though an explanation. Not that he could judge. He simply kept his peace rather than waste his energies on such effort. An ability that Arngeir seems to have lost since reaching his level of mastery of the Voice. Perhaps that was where Ulfric got it from…
"Do you know what happened to him since he left?"
The question should not have surprised him as much as it did. The Greybeard had heard of the events that lead to the current situation, but nothing of the underlying causes. His hesitation must have have shown on his face, for the girl sighed and turned back to the mountain. She was clearly uncomfortable with what she wanted to say. "Ulfric wasn't joking when he called the elf who attended the talks the 'chief Talos hunter'. She's the First Emissary of the Thalmor in Skyrim. Before that, she served in the Great War as an interrogator." The girl hesitated before elaborating, "I have no proof, but if what I've seen of the places that Thalmor reserve for that sort of thing is any indication, an 'interrogator' isn't very different than a torturer."
No wonder Ulfric was furious with her. But if that were so, how could she have knowingly forced him to face such a nightmare? Einarth looked at the Dragonborn, unsure of how to resolve what he knew of her, with what she had done. She did not back down, "I'm not sure how much you overheard, but I'll repeat to you what I told him: If I had sent her away to spare his feelings, that would have only made him look petty and weak. And it's true. The people in that room would have destroyed his claim at the Moot if he fell apart here. And he needed to face her eventually; she probably knows him better than anyone else alive. I have no doubt that she has access to far more subtle forms of control than we know of." He must have looked skeptical, because the girl added bitterly, "You don't go to war with Daedric Princes without learning a few things, and Thalmor are hardly above using many of the same tactics."
She continued, "I'm sure you're aware of what happened in Markarth, and his imprisonment afterwards. There's another event worth noting: when I was first 'welcomed' to Skyrim, he and I were siblings in bondage. The very same cart and everything." Well, that was quite the coincidence… "All three times, the Thalmor have been involved in his capture. All three times, he has somehow escaped relatively unharmed- at least, as far as encounters with the Thalmor go. No one is that lucky. I should know: I'm the god's favorite pull toy." The Greybeard was not impressed at all by the poor joke. At least, he certainly hoped she wasn't serious. "He's being set up by the Thalmor." She uncrossed her arms and set them akimbo. "I've seen their files. And it makes perfect sense: the Thalmor stand to gain the most out of a protracted civil war. They're probably trying to weaken and split up the Empire as much as possible before they eventually resume their war."
So, the girl did indeed know what was in store for her when all was said and done. He might have been proud of her perceptiveness if it hadn't come at such a price. Einarth was not one for coddling children - he certainly had not the faintest idea how - but a youth spent waging war was not a way to spend one's life. Ulfric tried, and what had that wrought him?
"The thing is, both sides know. They know, and what are they doing anyway?"
He did not need to try to determine what the Dragonborn was feeling. It was all over her face, and in the way she wrung her hands; the girl radiated frustration from every part of her person. Perhaps it was simply her anxiety, perhaps it was her dovah soul, but on rare occasions the girl would become animated. Not unlike the soft glow of an ember, smouldering quietly among the ashes, that might flare up into a roaring fire. She was far too passionate to keep the calm composure of a diplomat. Clearly, this child was not meant for politics. And yet, he would have said the same of her Dragonborn heritage. Though Einarth would never admit it now, he would have never chosen one so small and unassuming to become the legendary hero of Skyrim. But maybe it was for that reason that Akatosh saw fit to bestow them with a champion at once mild yet contrary. A new perspective- an agent of change not bound by their traditions and predispositions. The old man grimaced. The child would learn if she must. It certainly seems as though she wants to. Or was it that she cannot help but try?
wah dein vokul mahfaeraak ahst vaal...
To keep evil forever at bay…
The prophecy spoke only of Alduin's defeat, but the son of Akatosh was not the only evil that threatened the world. It could conceivably be in the girl's nature to rise to the challenge, or to answer a threat. And just as she had taken up the sword, so too could she learn to wield the spoken word. The question was: to what end would the Dragonborn pursue the war?
She sighed wearily, "At the very least, I've bought us some time before this all comes to a head. After I've dealt with Alduin, well… we'll see how much more I'll be able to do."
Einarth saw the girl withdraw to dark places within herself, somewhere between resignation and dread. There was something in her manner that led Einarth to believe that there was more to her hopelessness than feelings of inadequacy. And her words, though vague, were laden with implications. Implications that he hoped were little more than unfounded fears. His lips tightened into a thin line as he considered what she had said, and what he himself at wondered at many a time.
One does not go with joy to a probable death.
He must have made a face then, because the girl smiled at him in her small, wry yet sad, way. She turned back to the scene before them and said nothing for a time.
It was ironic, in the bitterest sense, that the girl was resigned to glory, even as Ulfric chased it. The old man saw how much she abhorred it, and how much Ulfric had wanted it. He thought of small hands, bruised, scraped, and cut. Of the slow acquisition of bandages and scars that gradually claimed more of her as time went on. Of the way her soft feminine form gave way to the battle hardened body of the warrior. He thought of what he had seen of other warriors, and of Ulfric, and the broken bodies such men inhabited. The weary souls they possessed. Of the haunted eyes that eventually marked them. There were few, like the Blade the girl had sought, who were more philosophers than warriors, but most men learned the value of wisdom far too late. Too late than what such wisdom might have been able to save of them, even. If she lived through this, would the girl share a similar fate? Would she follow in the footsteps of Ulfric, spiraling ever further onto a path that would twist her as it had him?
It was pointless to wonder at, had she been born to a different life, what the girl could have become. Perhaps the Dragonborn had not been wrong in her assessment. Ulfric might have been better suited than her to bear the burden of destiny. Physically, at least. He was tall strong, proud, and had the sort of charisma and will that men could respect. The Greybeard wondered, not for the first time, at what the Gods had been thinking when they had chosen such a tiny thing. She had overcome so much to become the capable fighter she was today, but she lacked the natural gifts that Ulfric had. Small advantages that, when the time came to face Alduin, could mean the difference between life and death. The Dragonborn was certainly fated to defeat Alduin, but after? It seemed rather likely that the fated battle would be the end of her.
Einarth looked at the girl, trying to discern her thoughts. She had appealed to Ulfric, asking him to become more than what he had chosen for himself. Was it because she believed she would not survive killing Alduin?
A sudden urge took him, and he could not stop himself from voicing his worry, "Dovahkiin, tol Zaan hi doj…"
The girl waited for the rumbling that often accompanied the Dragon Speech to subside before she spoke. "I will not speak it unless I have to." A pained grimace marred her face, and she swallowed with difficulty thinking about it. Truly, the Shout was a terrible thing; he had heard her use it in her first battle with Alduin atop the Throat of the World, and knew of the agonized roar that it wrested from the proud dragon. The Greybeards could only listen as the battle raged, and it was not an experience he cared to repeat. He and his peers had felt many things in those tense hours, helplessness chief among them. They were hardly incapable of defending themselves, or of inflicting damage. But they were barred from action, simply because it was not their fight. It was the first time that he had ever begun to understand what it was that so troubled Ulfric when he first ran off to war. But the old man knew his place, as did the Dragonborn. Ulfric did not, and had paid dearly for it.
But this Shout had an affect on the girl that no other Shout did. To learn a Shout, one must internalize the words and their meaning. And that Shout, was the mortality of man, the inevitability of death, and the inescapable fate of all beings that walked Tamriel. It was one of the cruelest things that could ever be used against a dragon, immortal as they were, and was one of the few Shouts that mortals were immune to. Almost. The Dragonborn used the word, and felt it's power and essence fill her as she did. There were Shouts she delighted in, Shouts she used as though they were the most natural thing in the world, and Shouts she seemed to care nothing for either way. But this Shout, Dragonrend, wrecked nearly as much havoc on her as it did other dragons; she may have been born into a mortal body, but she had a dragon's soul.
To face mortality as much as she did, and to call upon it as much as she did… Was it any wonder that the Dragonborn did not expect to live? She had been terribly shaken after her first battle, and in anguish over the World Eater's escape. And yet, it was clear from the way she saw to her wounds, that it was not the claws, teeth, or fire that she feared. Whatever it was that that Shout did to her, had forced her to face with savage clarity, was her own mortality. And she had had to call upon it repeatedly. She would have to do so again when she faced Alduin for the second time. What would the effects of that Shout combined with deadly combat, do to her in the end?
The girl had studied his face intently while he had been lost to his worries. "I guess you know what it does."
Einarth simply bowed his head in response.
"I don't know what will happen to me when this is over, and I'm not sure I'll make it even if I win." The Dragonborn closed her eyes and turned once more to the sky above. "If I die... someone else needs to end this war."
Ulfric.
"I don't know if leaving the Empire is the best thing for Skyrim. Even if I do trust and respect many of it's supporters. But the Aldmeri Dominion is so heavily entrenched in Imperial governance, that I'm not sure they're capable of protecting anyone anymore. They certainly can't protect themselves. Look at what happened to the Blades, and what they replaced the Blades with. Not even the Emperor…" The girl choked a little at that. The strangest expression crossed her face, and the old man thought he saw shame, though he knew not why. Perhaps the girl was more emotional than he gave her credit for, for her to feel the enormity of the situation so keenly. She was, he realized with a start, not so unlike what Ulfric in that regard. There was a love of country in her that he had not noticed before now.
"And the Thalmor… The Thalmor are playing the long game with us. They're no better than the Daedra: they first take our beliefs, they slowly twist and change our identities, and then they do what they want once we've lost ourselves. Bloody battle is obvious, but this is a war of the mind. They're trying to take who we are, and once they have broken us as a people, it'll be easy to take the country in a war. General Tullius knows, Rikke knows, so many of them know. But who can do anything to stop it? The Legion can't, because they're stuck upholding that treaty. And the Altmer have had a long time to plan. They'll have a long time to act on those plans, too. Time many other people don't."
If that were true, then perhaps even High Hrothgar would not be safe. The Greybeards were followers of the Way of the Voice, and as such were the keepers of a long honored tradition of the Nords. If the Thalmor sought to destroy all the cultural symbols of Skyrim, they were most certainly a target.
"But Ulfric? Don't tell Arngeir I said this, but Ulfric might destroy Skyrim more readily than the Thalmor. He has so much hatred. Enough that he sees enemies in those who would be allies, and would make allies of many who are less than honorable. The things that happen in his city are simply inhumane. The Elves and Argonians have been reduced to living in poverty and filth, driven to shady dealings to make ends meet. There is even murder in the upper streets. And he does nothing! Absolutely nothing if they are not Nords, and even that is uncertain! If all of Skyrim were to be run like that, there might not be anything left to save."
Then what in Oblivion was she doing asking Ulfric for more?
Einarth didn't bother hiding how perplexed he was, and the girl rushed to explain herself: "There's a good man in there, I know it! He wasn't always like this. You would know better than I." But that still doesn't excuse what he's become. Einarth thought darkly.
"He's too- he can't truly hate foreigners so much. But it's something he's come to wrap himself up too tightly in. He's lost sight of his goals, of himself. That hatred was put in him by the Thalmor. He intends to fight them. They're never very far from his mind. It's impossible not to be so painfully aware of them, given what they do to people, to the things they say, to how they say them. It's so hard not to hate everything about them! That's simply the way they were raised to be; how do you overcome the ideology that you were shaped from birth to believe in? There are Altmer who do, though, and I can't fault them. They say that the Thalmor have twisted and ruined everything it means to be Altmer. I can't speak for them, but I daresay it's true. Whatever the case, Ulfric's been taking out his hurt and anger on all mer, and that isn't right."
The girl clenched her fists and squeezed her eyes shut. But none of that stopped her from crying.
"They've hurt him. Broken him. They're using him even now. And I don't know how to stop it. How can I save him from them? How can I save him from himself?"
As a hermit sequestered from the world, Einarth had never learned how to deal with crying women. Men did not weep openly. Men were not supposed to. Women were considered soft, but in the case of the Dragonborn, that softness was not necessarily weakness. It allowed her to find the nuance of things, to see the world with eyes unfettered by an unyielding worldview. It allowed her to have compassion born of understanding, and not mere pity. But this? To oppose Ulfric and yet shed tears for the man?
So he stood there, dumbfounded and silent. It had been a long time since he had been so unsure, so lost for what to do. Perhaps this was what Ulfric had felt not too long ago. For a man of action, he'd been just about useless when the Dragonborn had been on the verge of tears earlier. The old man might have been amused at finally finding something in common with the boy after all these years if the situation had not confounded him so.
The tears slowed, but it was hard to say if they had stopped. She made hardly a sound as she wept, and Einarth wondered, not without worry, if that was simply the way she was, or if the girl had learned how to weep silently.
"Maybe it's only because I am Dragonborn, but he doesn't seem to hate me for being an outsider. He had seemed shocked at first, but did not contest my title after a demonstration." Perhaps there is hope for the boy. Or was she simply an acceptable exception? "Maybe he'll listen to me. I don't know if he will, but there has to be some way I can reach him."
What was it about Ulfric that had compelled Arngeir, and now the Dragonborn?
"You should hear him when he talks about the old legends."
Einarth's gaze sharpened. Was it for the sake of building his own legend that the boy persisted in such bloody pursuits?
"No one tells stories the way he does. Especially the old songs when he thinks no one is watching. If I could give those back to him, restore his dreams, then maybe he might be able to see Skyrim again. To really see what it is, and what it has become. He loves the stories too much because he thinks they're all he has now. He's not fighting for the future, he's fighting for what he's lost. And there's so much he's missing because of it." The Dragonborn wiped her face with her hands before turning to the old master, "He cares in spite of everything that's happened to him. Skyrim needs people like that. People who can find it in themselves to fight, to love even, especially when they're past hope. At the very least, he deserves a chance to be the kind of man he wants to be, to be the man he sought to be all those years ago."
Passion. They were all full of it. It simply manifested in different ways. They were all so driven by by it, that perhaps he really should have realized much sooner that it was inevitable that they would clash. Arngeir was passionate in his devotion to the Way of the Voice, Ulfric was passionate about following in the footsteps of his heroes, and the Dragonborn was passionate about helping the helpless. The image of a helpless Ulfric flashed across his mind, and Einarth tamped down his amusement immediately; the girl was counting on him to be a font wisdom, and smirking in her face would have been highly inappropriate. Still, the girl was not wrong about the man; he needed help, it was a ailment of the soul that tore at the man, and who better to help him than one who might understand him best?
"I think that, given the chance, and a push in the right direction, he could be exactly what Skyrim needs. It may be enough to make leaving the empire worth it. And to be rid of the Thalmor."
That was an awful lot of hope to place on a man with such a dismal record…
"I don't know if I can do enough for that to happen. Or if I'll even be around to do anything at all. But no matter what, Skyrim needs this to end. This war is unsustainable, and the Thalmor cannot be allowed to do this to Skyrim, or to anyone else. But someone has to do it. Someone willing to risk everything to save her. We need someone who will try and succeed."
The Dragonborn was herself a hero, and yet looking for one other?
Einarth marvelled at the revelation, but the girl fell silent, and it seemed as though her near-admission had drained her. It wasn't often the girl talked so much, and it seemed that she was done speaking for the time being. So they stood in silence, both lost in their own thoughts.
It was some time before the girl made ready to leave, and as her custom, spoke briefly with the Old One before heading to the great doors. Einarth trailed her to the entrance this time; the others were meditating, and Arngeir was nowhere to be found.
Just as she reached the doors however, the Dragonborn paused, "He never truly left this place, you know? He still carries a piece of High Hrothgar within him. And feels badly about betraying the ideals of the Order."
It would have been hard to believe if he had not seen it for himself. How the former disciple had addressed, without hesitation, the Greybeards by their titles. How the boy had reacted to mild reprimands from Einarth himself. He seemed adamant that he would not bow to anyone at the meeting, but had immediately rebuked his guard at the old man's silent request.
"Maybe one day, he'll come home for good. Please give him my regards when he does."
Gods! Was she trying to break an old man's heart?
The Dragonborn smiled that small, sad smile of hers, and then shut the doors behind her.
Einarth stood for a moment, pondering her words. But as he turned, he wondered perhaps if her parting words were not for him. His eyes briefly met Arngeir's and saw that they were stormy with emotions he had never really learned to hide. Einarth nodded and addressed his fellow Greybeard, and left the room to meditate. He wondered if the girl's words would help the old man. And perhaps help him see how much the girl understood. He sighed heavily. Whatever his old friend made of this, was not for him to worry about. And they were all far too private to share such deeply personal thoughts.
So he proceeded to the courtyard to meditate on the Words. Meditate and await the Dragonborn's next visit.