Atop the Throat of the World – Skyrim
"You have it, the Elder Scroll, Tiid kreh... qalos," said the large scaled head, peering down at him. The Dragonborn loosened his hand that had involuntarily grasped his sword hilt and smiled up at Paarthurnax. It had been quite a surprise meeting the leader of the graybeards for the first time, and he had not gotten use to the idea of a dragon as an ally. Likely he never would, he had killed to many of them and would likely continue to – not exactly a good relationship builder.
He would just have to pretend that being within biting distance of one without his shield up didn't bother him. Paarthurnax for his own part, if he had noticed the Dovahkiin's unease, didn't stir and only sat sitting upon the word wall.
"So, how was your journey to find The Kel?" the dragon asked.
"Errr, fine, I suppose," Dovahkiin said, a little puzzled. In the brief time that he had known the ancient dragon he hadn't taken him as one for small talk. Just the opposite in fact. Everything about Paarthurnax seemed meticulous, as if you needed to choose your words carefully. Not out of fear – for he was arrogantly sure that he could take the old dragon – but more out of respect, as if he really was dovah and he needed to defer to his elders. It was clearly not the place for the sort of conversation that he has with drunkards in the local tavern.
Sensing that the dragon was waiting for elaboration he continued. "After some research at the College I managed to track it down to some Dwemer ruins. By the way, I hate Dwemer ruins so it was not fun for me; just wanted to let you know. After killing all the dwarven machines guarding the place I unlocked the most bizarre vault I had ever seen that held the Scroll."
"Then," he added, thinking this was a good time to bring up a problem he had been having about this whole arrangement, "I traveled across all of Skyrim and climbed back up this mountain, again – right after I had climbed down it after talking to you."
Forget being respectful, he was tired of walking. If Paarthurnax was going to have him fetching stuff all over Skyrim the least he could to do was fly him there. He didn't think it was so beneath the dragon's status to care someone on his back, least of all a Dragonborn.
"Hmmm," said Paarthurnax, only seeming to be half listening. "Well I'm glad it was successful, if a little disappointing for you. I wish there was time to rest but Alduin must be stopped as quickly as possible."
Annoyed that the dragon had missed the point he asked, "Then, if you don't mind me asking, why are you asking me about my journey if time is short? It just seems unlike you."
"Well, in the one meeting we've had you already know the way I talk?" the dragon answered back chuckling. "But no," he continued, growing solemn, "I confess that I am buying time, delaying what must be done. What we are about to do is dangerous, some would even say wrong. We are using the weakness of Time here to our advantage. A wound that was created once we are tearing open again. Who knows what adverse consequences that will cause? And whenever an Elder Scroll is involved, well, I just hope we don't accidently open the Oblivion Gates again."
"Could that really happen?" Dovahkiin asked, a little nervous now. "Not likely" the dragon replied, a little more casually now, "though more than likely some strange events will occur. The Scrolls don't just affect what's around them but all of Everything too. Oblivion will hear us today. I will count it lucky if only a few dadra are moved around."
He wanted to say that 'a few dadra moved around' was a big enough event but instead said, "Well, if we are going to do this then lets do it. What do I need to do?"
"Quite simple really," the dragon said. "Take the Scroll to the Time Wound and read it. You will be sent back to when the wound was made, the time when the ancient Nords banished Aludin with the Scroll. Watch what happened and learn the Dragonrend from them."
"And what will happen to me? Will I be able to move, or be hurt?"
"I don't know. More than likely you can't be hurt, since you are not really there. But, again, who really knows with the Scrolls? Actually," Paarthurnax said, suddenly with excitement, "make an effort to remember every feeling you have, any presences you sense or powers you feel. Don't let it get in the way of your mission, but just take note of it. Afterwards you can tell me about it. I have never, and hopefully will never, use an Elder Scroll and it would be great knowledge to know what it feels like."
Dovahkiin, now realizing that he was an experiment, began to walk to the Time Wound. He looked down at the Scroll in his hands. It's cream colored shell was carved with intriguing patterns. Just by looking at it you could tell it was important even without knowing what it truly was. That it was a fragment left over from creation, a piece of Time itself. But right now, looking at the thing in his hands he could hardly believe it. To him it was only a scroll. There was no energy coming off of it, no voices whispering to him, it didn't even feel unusually heavy or light. How could such a little, seemingly ordinary thing have so much potential? So much unknown? Even Paarthurnax didn't really know what would happen when he read this thing. For the first time since his near death experience in Helgen he was unsure if he would make it. He wasn't fighting bandits, interfering in local politics with monarchs, or even killing dragons. He was playing with fire, a fire he could never control.
He sighed, his breath coming out mist in the cold air. He looked back where the dragon was sitting, watching him from the edge of the mountain, its own breath visible against the dark sky, and beyond that all of Skyrim stretched out beneath them. With the Nordic snow swirling around him, the Dragonborn opened the Scroll.
At first he relied only on what his eyes told him. The sheet of paper was transparent; on it appeared what seemed to be a map of the stars. Then the stars, and the lines connecting them began to glow, quickly becoming so bright as to hurt his eyes, yet he could not look away. It seem a force was pulling him away, which direction he could not tell. The stars, their images now burned into his vision, leaped off the page and begin to fly past him. Or was he flying past them? He tried to look down at the ground, but there was nothing below him. Fearful he tried to close the Scroll, but he realized he was no longer holding it. In fact, he didn't even seem to be there. No mater the way he looked he couldn't see anything, except the stars flying past him. He couldn't even see his own body, or feel it for that mater. He tried to bring his hand up to his face but couldn't. He fought the urge to scream and just held on, hoping he had not doomed himself to this prison without bars. Then, as suddenly as they appeared, the stars vanished, and he fell into cold darkness.