A/N: Thank you to Y-Ko for Beta-ing this, and Adam Nightingale for kicking my butt into actually writing some Skyrim ff :) Hope you enjoy reading!

Nalimir

It felt odd, returning to these steps after six long years. It was the first time in his life that he could remember feeling cold here. Years of living in the warmer regions of Skyrim and all the other providences he had visited had softened him. As he began the climb of the seven thousand steps up to Higher Hrothgar, Nalimir bit down on his lower lip and tried to ignore the fact that he was bloody freezing.

He ignored all of the inscribed monuments and headstones, having read them all a hundred times over. Nalimir had no problem with the length of the journey and made it to the front of Hrothgar in good time, the cold bringing with it a heavy sense of nostalgia. Everything was so familiar yet half forgotten, the ghosts of his childhood seeming so distant now. It didn't help that the whole place seemed frozen in time, entirely disconnected from the rest of the world. But this wasn't his home anymore, and no matter what the Greybeards had to say, it never would be again.

Climbing the stairs to the entrance, he hesitated for a moment before taking a steadying breath. Facing them now shouldn't be that difficult; he was a grown man for pity's sake and back in the time when he had left he had possessed every right to make his own decisions, no longer a whimsical child. Still, they had once been for all intents and purposes, his family. Leaving them hadn't been easy, no matter what kind of monster they thought he'd become.

His knocks echoed in the hollow halls of the building, resonating and growing. Nalimir withdrew his hand and dropped it back to his side, resting it ever so subtly against the handle of the dagger concealed under his simple black cloak. The Greybeards were not violent people, but they did not make easy enemies. He felt safer with a weapon at hand.

It took some time, but eventually the great iron door swung back. Arngeir stood in the open doorway, looking old, though not a day older than when Nalimir had last seen him. The Greybeards had a seemingly ageless seniority. Looking up at him from under hooded, drooping eyelids, the elder of the Greybeards took his time in examining the wood elf stood on his doorstep, not speaking as he chose instead to scrutinise him.

Finally, his look of meditation melted into a kind, and unexpected smile. "Nalimir, it has been too long," Arngeir greeted him gently, nodding in respect. Nalimir, totally unprepared, paused for a moment before nodding back at the man, bringing one hand across his chest, and bowing slightly, a gesture he had picked up when he'd last lived here as a student of the Greybeards.

"It is good to see you again," the old man continued, his voice the same thunderous whisper it had always been. It shook through Nalimir like a mother's embrace, but the comfort was tainted by the questions in the back of his mind.

"I came to answer your summons," Nalimir pointed out, keeping his tone formal even as he returned the man's smile.

"Thank you, child, for coming." Nalimir bristled slightly at being called a "child", but it was to be expected, for he was still the only youth here.

Arngeir stepped back and allowed him through. Eyes wide in curiosity and caution, Nalimir returned to the hold that had housed him all his childhood. It had the same walls, the same beautiful architecture, and he could still recall all the secret passages, the nooks and crannies into which you could disappear into for days on end without being discovered, but it seemed different now—colder and empty.

None of the other Greybeards had come to greet him, but that was to be expected. He had shamed them, or at the very least displeased them, so a big traditional family reunion would have been too much to ask. "The others apologise for their absence, as they are all in deep meditation." Arngeir made their excuses as he ushered him through the vast and seemingly unending corridors of the monastery, the perfect way to give their bodies something to do to fill the awkward silences that were inevitably to come.

"How have you been, Nalimir?" Arngeir inquired politely, probably in an attempt to relax him.

"Well, thank you. I was, however, surprised by your summoning." He tried to steer the conversation back to his purpose in coming here; he did not want to stay here longer than was needed. The nostalgia was too thick and the emotions too deeply woven into this place.

"I am glad to hear you are doing well; we have not seen you in so long," Arngeir mumbled, more to himself than to Nalimir, ignoring Nalimir's attempts to try and get on-topic. Having lived with them through-out his childhood, Nalimir knew better than anyone just how tricky old men could be when you tried to hold a simple conversation with them; they had a habit of derailing themselves. Still, something in his tone and words struck a chord in Nalimir and he grimaced; despite his friendly smiles, Arngeir was still going to guilt him for his actions.

"I apologise for not visiting; I did not think I was welcome," Nalimir replied tightly, his hand twitching towards the dagger hilt again. He felt oddly vulnerable despite being armed, walking next to a man he should have trusted as he once had with his life.

The old man shook his head and smiled sadly to himself. "Things did not go as planned with you, child. We did not wish to cause such tensions between us, but you were at a difficult age. I confess that we did not handle it well. Old men have little patience for the vigour of young ones; I expect it might be a sort of envy." He spoke with a lilted smile and a distant look as he gazed at no spot in particular on the floor. The pair continued walking gradually down the corridor, occasionally passing through the bright slits of light that came in from the white wonderland of snow-covered shining ground outside. Despite the weather, it was always bright here, the snow reflecting that sunlight that made it through the blizzards.

They continued in thoughtful silence for a moment before Nalimir couldn't take it any longer, his desperation to leave mounting. Among the monks, Nalimir felt so young and ignorant, and the heavy stone of the walls became oddly suffocating. "Why did you summon me, Arngeir?" he asked bluntly in an attempt to get even Arngeir to be straight with him, glancing towards the old man.

Sighing, Arngeir raised his eyes from the floor and looked straight ahead before them, avoiding Nalimir's gaze. "Paarthumax has spoken, Nalimir," he informed him, his expression unreadable. "No doubt you have heard the growing rumours and fears amongst the people of Skyrim, as tales of Dragons swell and people speak of the end of the world."

"There are always tales of dragons, people seem rather fixated on them," Nalimir countered quickly, even though he knew it was stupid. It was clear something had occurred, otherwise they would not have summoned him.

"Paarthumax has told us that a Dovahkiin has been born into the world for some time now, but it is only now, in a time when the bones of Dragons do indeed find new life that the Dovahkiin's power will awaken. The age of the Dragonborn has come once again." Arngeir spoke with great grandeur, but also solemnly. Having grown up on tales of the Dragonborn, of the Way of the Voice and of the time of Dragons, Nalimir's automatic reaction was not one of doubt or shock. He had no doubt in the power of Dragons, having been the student to one for many years of his life.

Thinking it over to himself for a moment, Nalimir chewed the inside of his cheek and then spoke. "It is not me."

"No Nalimir, it is not you. You have always showed the greatest promise in your talent with the Thu'um, but you are not the Dovahkiin."

Studying him for a moment, rerunning his speech over in his head, Nalimir considered what he'd been told. "You know who it is," he realised aloud, admittedly surprised, for despite his knack for hearing rumors, he had heard none of a Dragonborn being found.

"We do, for Paarthumax has named one," Arngeir confirmed, pausing once more before continuing, "and we know where he currently resides."

Nalimir would have asked what on Nirn all this had to do with him, a failed student of the Way of the Voice, but he knew that the old man would explain it eventually, and so he kept quiet. "He is but a child still, only fourteen or so years of age, open to being moulded and changed by those who would try to control him. In these times of change and upheaval, a boy who is the Dragonborn is in the greatest danger imaginable, both from those who wish to use him and those who wish to destroy him."

Nalimir could see exactly where this was going. "He has had no training as far as our knowledge goes, no way of defending himself and no family to speak of. He is completely vulnerable." Arngeir was positively milking it now. "Nalimir, whilst we are an order of peace and we do not condone the lifestyle you have chosen, we do have a realistic perspective on that which is necessary. We understand why you chose the path that you did, and we respect you for your independence."

"We ask of you only one favour in return for the years you spent as a student here: protect this child, for he may well be the only hope this world has. And in the wrong hands, an impressionable Dragonborn could be the fuel for the end of our world rather than the salvation. He is untrained in the way of the voice, and you are more gifted and well-learned in the Thu'um than all of the monks here put together. If you cannot bring him back to Hrothgar, his training will fall to you. Please, for all that you used to stand for, for all of us, find and nurture this child."

Nalimir was silent for a long time before responding. "You are asking quite a thing of me, Arngeir," he said finally, still trying to process just what was being asked of him. "I am no parent." He understood what the return of Dragons signified, the end of the world, but he was no longer an adherent of the Way of the Voice, he no longer abided by the Greybeards, and in all honesty, he wished to have nothing to do with them.

"Paarthmax has spoken Nalimir, and you know that he does not lie. He has spoken of one Dragonborn, one individual capable of saving this world from the oncoming dangers. A boy such as this cannot hope to achieve such greatness without a guiding hand and the proper training." Arngeir was more passionate than Nalimir had ever heard him before, even desperate. He had once viewed this man as his father; he couldn't say no.

"Where does the boy currently live?" He questioned, finally giving up on talking himself out of this.

"Riften. He dwells in the Ratways with the thieves and the liars." Upon hearing this, a crooked and rare smile split across Nalimir's lips and he snorted.

"If that is true then he will be no wide-eyed vulnerable boy."

"Nevertheless, he will be a boy."

"I have business in Riften in the early days of Rains hand," Nalimir conceded slowly, and Arngeir glanced over at him; he knew exactly what he meant by "business". "I shall search for the boy then, if he does indeed exist. What is the child's name?" He asked as they drew to a halt, having conveniently arrived back in the entrance hall. Arngeir had known he'd convince him so easily all along. Old men were certainly sly.

"Mog."

"Family name?"

"He does not use one."

"I shall find your Mog then," Nalimir vowed. Reluctant as he was, it was his duty. After everything he owed to these people and all he had done to disappoint them, he owed them this one final act of benevolence, "and no harm shall come to him."