Chapter 2: Change
One Year Ago:
"We are honoured to have you as Thane of our city, Dragonborn," Balgruuf spoke, handing Darion a sword of remarkable quality before the gathered court of Dragonsreach, made up of nobles and merchant lords alike. Darion had seen similar kinds of weapons used by the Companions, those glorified mercenaries. He accepted the gift all the same, swinging it in front the Jarl, testing it's weight. Darion wore a simple set of iron armour back then, complete with gauntlets and greaves that he had taken from people on the road who had sought to rob him. The sword that hung at his side had the markings of the Legion, it's cross guard decorated with a dragon. It had been one of the few things he had been able to grab when he ran from Helgen, but despite it's humbleness, it was a reliable weapon made with the utmost care and skill. It was a soldiers sword, the kind that killed with ease and was sturdy and strong. This new sword in his hands was a undoubtedly of superior quality, but Darion had grown accustomed to his own sword, and was likely to use it for a while to come.
"A remarkable weapon my lord," he said. "I'll put it to good use," 'eventually' he added in thought.
"I'm sure you will, Dragonborn, it's long way to the Throat of the World, even by horseback, and with the war going on all matter of scum and monstrosities have crept their way onto the roads."
"My Jarl, I just took down a Dragon, something tells me that I can handle a few spiders and bandits," Darion spoke, still confident and full of energy after his fight with the dragon. It was not adrenaline he felt, it was something more. A roar within him that made him feel like the world could stand before him and fall.
"All the same," Balgruuf spoke, "I would feel safer sending you with some protection, and as a Thane it is a necessity for you anyway."
A brow rose on Darion's face."Necessity?" he asked.
The Jarl smiled and nodded, waving his hand to someone who stood behind the Dragonborn. Darion turned to find a Nord woman with long black hair stepping out of the crowd of the court. She wore a mixture of steel and furred armour, carrying a sword on her hip and a shield on her back. Though she was by no means the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen there was softness to her face that made her pleasant to look at, and was not completely overshadowed by the intensity that came with a Nordic woman.
"Dragonborn," Balgruuf continued, "this is Lydia, I am assigning her to be your personal housecarl."
"Housecarl?" Darion asked, turning back to Balgruuf, almost sounding insulted, though he did his best to hide it. "Forgive me Jarl Balgruuf but I have no want or need for a bodyguard. I move much faster and work much better on my own."
"Housecarls are no simple bodyguards," spoke Irileth, the Jarls own Housecarl, a Dark Elf with the ash grey skin and red eyes of her people that highlighted her crimson hair. "They are an extension of their masters will, their sword and their shield. They vow to protect you and all you own with their very lives. There is no soldier or mercenary in all of Tamriel that can match the loyalty of someone given the title of Housecarl." The elf's crimson eyes looked to Lydia, her gaze softening and a small smile on her lips. "Lydia is one such person, and a talented warrior. I daresay she is one of the most accomplished in Whiterun." The Nord woman bowed to the Dark Elf.
"I am honoured by your praise," she said, having spoken for the first time since she arrived, her voice, much like her face, full of confidence and yet soft and tender. She stood straight and looked to Darion before kneeling once again, which caused Darion to grow strangely restless, but he pushed it aside. "If you will have me my Thane, I declare my sword and my shield to you. I will guard you and all you are with my very being. There is nothing in this world that I will not gladly face in battle for you, no mountain I will not climb or ocean I will not cross. I will follow you into the darkest places and-"
"Alright, I get it, you're loyal!" Darion interjected. "If it makes you cease with all these oaths and promises I'll let you tag along," he sighed. Lydia looked up at him, surprised. It seemed as if she had rehearsed that speech all day to convince him. He shook his head before turning back to the Jarl. "I suppose I'll take her, but I take no responsibility if I return alone with tales of her demise at the hands of a troll or a bear."
"It is tales of yours that I would be most displeased to hear Dragonborn," Balgruuf laughed. "It is a housecarls place to die before their master, if she does meet her end out there her name will be honoured, we will of course find you a new one." Darion's eyes narrowed for a moment at that. They were careless words, thrown about as if the woman was some tool to be used and replaced. Though he honestly could not care less about the her, he hated words like the Jarls. He knew all to well the feeling of being swept aside as if he were nothing. All the same he kept his mouth shut.
"By the way, Jarl Balgruuf," he said, changing the subject for the his own sake, "I wanted to ask you a question."
"Ask," the jarl said with a smile, "and I will answer as best as a can."
"I couldn't help but notice the distinct lack of soldiers you have within your walls," Darion began, "I was wondering as to why that might be."
"If this is some kind of argument to ensure that Lydia remains here, then I ask that you stop right there," Balgruuf said, his voice firm and commanding.
"Of course not," Darion continued. "It's just that it seems that in the other Hold Capitals, there's not only a garrison of guards, but of soldiers too, be they Imperial or Stormcloak." A small smirk crept it's way onto the dragonborn's face. "I could not see either within your walls." The Jarl sighed and ran a hand through his thick blonde beard, before his eyes met with Darion's once more.
"What are you trying to say, Dragonborn? Whose side are you going to try and convince me to join?"
"No ones, Jarl," Darion assured, though his mocking tone was noted by all in the court. "it was just a curiosity I had." The jarl leaned forward in his throne, as if to intimidate him, but the Nord was careful, he was not fully aware of what this Dragonborn was capable of.
"I will leave slaying dragons to you," Balgruuf spoke, his voice low now, his words only for Darion, not the rest of his court. "In return, I would appreciate if you left matters of diplomacy and security to me." Darion said nothing, and merely bowed his head. He looked over the sword one more time before sliding it into it's sheath that he held in his other hand.
"Well, if I've been summoned by these monks, I best not delay." He bowed to the Jarl once more. "Jarl Balgruuf."
"Gods be with you Dragonborn," the ageing Jarl spoke. "I guarantee you will need their help before this dragon menace has ended." And with that Darion turned on his heel and strode out of the Jarl's court, the eyes of various Nobles, Lords, soldiers and servants following him as he made his way out of Dragonsreach, Lydia shadowing him out of the palace. The two of them stepped out of the double doors to the Jarl's Palace and into the cool evening air. Down below the throughout the city Darion could hear music and celebration as Whiterun celebrated the death of the Dragon that most of them had not even seen.
"They honor you, my Thane," Lydia said, "You won a great victory today. They will surely remember you for that."
"What do I care that they remember me?" Darion replied bitterly. "The people believe me to be a savior, that I'll slay the dragons and save the world, or some such nonsense."
Lydia's brow rose at this. "Is that not what you're going to do? What you should do?" She walked past him to look him in the eye, an act that Darion found particularly annoying. It didnot help that she was able to look down on him with her very slight advantage of height. "I understand that you're not a Nord, and you're not fully aware of what being Dragonborn means, but-"
"And what does it mean, 'Housecarl'?" he spat. "What does it mean to be Dragonborn to you?"
She was silent, looking down to the celebrations as if to reflect on the question. Darion thought for a moment that he had silenced her into submission but her eyes quickly met his again, this time with a fire in them.
"It means knowing right from wrong," she began. "About seeing the darkness in the world and having the power to do something about it. You may not realise it, my Thane, but you're blood is sacred in Skyrim. You're the one kind of person that people can look up to, regardless of who you are and they will follow you."
"Just like you will?" Darion asked smugly. Lydia's eyes narrowed, as if there were nothing but spite for him, and yet at the same time respect.
"I am sworn to carry your burdens," she growled, "but you really are a bastard, remember that." Darion did his best to stare her down, but he could not help himself from chuckling. Lydia looked surprised to see him laugh, let alone smile. When his fit was finished, Darion threw her the sword the Jarl had given him.
"We'll start with that," he said as he continued to walk past her. "I promised the jarl I'd put it to good use, so my promises are your promises now. And in the future," he stopped and turned back to her "I want you to be as direct and honest with me as you see fit, I have no affection for flattery or mindless obedience, agreed?"
Lydia's face still held the look of surprise, but it slowly turned into a smirk, bordering on a smile. "Sure," she said. "But don't expect me to carry everything you give me in the future." Darion returned the smirk, before turning and walking down the stairs into the city.
"I think we're going to get along just fine, Lydia."
She pulled the sword slightly from it's sheath, turning it in her hands. A smile crossed her lips as she admired the metal work, as well as the memories attached with it. She quickly slid the blade back in, before pulling the fur cloak further around her shoulders as she peered down onto the world below. The Throat of the World surely lived up to its name, it's towering height and mesmerizing views were enough to remind Lydia of that each time she climbed the seven thousand steps with Darion. The first time they had made the climb, they had underestimated just how high the mountain was, and both found themselves out of breath and exhausted when they finally reached High Hrothgar after a weeks worth of walking. Since then they had made the journey dozens of times, and no matter how meager or great the journey, every time they walked away from the monastery Lydia could feel Darion's power growing, as if his presence had a greater gravity about it. And still after all this time the monks refused to let her inside.
Even when Darion had gathered the Imperials and the Stormcloaks together to discuss a ceasefire to the civil war, she was not allowed inside. She, like many of the soldiers and bodyguards that the two sides had brought remained outside. The worst part had been that Darion had entrusted her to ensure that neither side started killing each other. That had probably been the longest few hours of her life. The Stormcloaks would shout insults at the Imperials who stood at attention, struggling not to give into the Nord's taunting. Thankfully no blows were delivered or blood was spilled, and the two sides parted from the mountain, a new uneasy peace guiding them down the mountain.
She sighed. Much like that day, the minute Darion stepped through High Hrogthgar's doors the hours seemed to stretch on. She knew that he was either in meditating or exchanging few words with the Greybeards, a process that she knew took great lengths of time. But she felt there was a certain amount of time attached to his visit. This was the kind of trip he made to climb all the way to the top of the mountain. He'd been quiet for entire ride from the reach to the mountain, though it was clear he was moving with a sense of urgency. He had not gained a full nights sleep for some time, and when he was sleeping and Lydia was on watch, she could see how restless his dreams were. She could never understand what he was saying, but it seemed he was always muttering something. Whatever awoke within him in the Reach was taking its toll on him, and it was not one that she was sure she was willing to watch him suffer. Yet still, the doors of High Hrothgar remained closed to her, and she knew that whatever wisdom Darion was looking for was something he had to find alone.
It had taken him the rest of the day until Darion eventually found himself at the summit of the mountain. The ride from the Reach as well as the climb up the seven thousand steps had given him more than enough time to calm down his blood, but the memory of the experience haunted his waking hours since then. However, as much as he felt he could suppress it, he had no idea what could possibly happen if he lost control. It was possible that he could just break down again like he did at the inn. Or it was possible that he could actually harm someone, and with a power like the Voice at his command he did not dare think of what he could do if he lost control.
As he paced around the summit, rubbing his hands together for warmth, he allowed himself the rare moment to stop and enjoy the view below him. Skyrim, a vast and beautiful country. The view from atop the Throat of the World was vast and endless, though he knew the borders did exist. At that moment though the land was laid out before him like a painting, it's artist one of divine talent and skill. Though Skyrim was considered cold and inhospitable by many, it took living there, truly living there, to understand and appreciate its unique and beautiful design. From the jagged ice cliffs of Winterhold, to lush green forests of Falkreath, all the way to the vast plains of Whiterun. Every imperfection in it's landscape made perfect and beautiful by nature. Once, on a day clearer than any in his life, Darion could have sworn he could see the Imperial City far to the south, or at least the shadow of the white gold tower. The thought of his homeland calling to him from so far away made him feel somewhat nostalgic, but it was not a place he was ready to return to any time soon.
Sighing, he stepped away from the view, moving towards the word wall that stood in solitude on the mountaintop. There he knelt before it, taking up the meditative position the Greybeards had taught him before closing his eyes. He didn't care much for their philosophies or their prayers, but he had found that meditation on the words of power truly gave him aid. Just by spending an hour a day contemplating on a single word, he gave it a sharper, more precise definition, and thus his thu'um became stronger. And as one of the 'sossedov' , one with Dragonsblood, having a stronger thu'um meant having the greater say among his immortal brethren.
As he knelt there, the snow seeping in through his amour, bringing a numbing chill to his body, he focused on the words he required. They were dark words, ones that carried the burden of sin for thousands of years. But they were powerful, and in his time of indecision, they were the words that Darion needed. He inhaled deeply, letting the thin mountain air enter him. With his lungs full, his mind in tune with the words of power, he let his voice be heard in a shout that echoed across Skyrim, to wherever in Tamriel it needed to be heard. Ambition, Overlord, Cruelty.
"Paar Thur Nax!" he shouted, his voice exploding in the air around him, it's sound carrying over mountainside. Even as the shout silently died away into the distance, Darion did not move. He remained on his knees before the word wall, and continued to meditate. He did not bring any books from him, and he felt he was to be in for a long wait.
As the sun began to set, and the winds grew silent, Darion remained in meditation. Even he had to admit he had been struggling not to fall asleep, as was his tendency if left in meditation long enough. As he continued to sit there, his mind focused around a particular set of words. Fus, Ro, Dah, 'Force, Balance, Push'. It was the first shout he had ever mastered, and by far one of his personal favorites. When used by Dragons, or the Greybeards, it had the power to destroy entire castles with it's unrelenting force. It was said to be the same shout that Tiber Septim had used to destroy the gates of Old Hroldan. Darion had always wondered what he could achieve with such a shout.
As his mind contemplated the words however, a wind began to creep its way across the mountaintop. Darion paid it no mind, the wind and the peaks of Skyrim went hand in hand like lovers. However, slowly the wind began to pick up, becoming stronger and more violent. But Darion remained in meditation, refusing to let his will be broken by a gale. A harsh breeze turned into a hurricane, and Darion found himself knocked over, a loud thud following his own fall. As he let himself open his eyes, he came to face to face with a large creature, it's torn wings and graying scales looking like that of an old man, despite the creature's immortality.
"Drem yol Lok," greeted Paarthurnax as he folded his wings and took his perch on the word wall. His sky blue eyes met Darion's, who could not help but smile at the sight of them.
"You look even older than when you left, the other dragons giving you that much trouble?" Darion joked, standing up and patting the snow from his body.
"I do not grow old, Dovahkiin," Paarthurnax said, showing what counted as a smile amongst dragons. "You however are looking volz fah ahtiid, worse for wear as the joor say." Darion laughed at this, glad to see that the old dragon had gained something that resembled a sense of humour in his absence.
"It's only been a few months, I plan to live a lot longer than that."
"Months feel more like minutes for the Dov. Vahzen, time, has a much different feeling for the vozahlaas, the immortal."
"Or perhaps you do not feel time at all, maybe that's a gift only mortals possess." Darion argued. "Tiid los fah joor, gein wo kent wahl pruzaan voth fos kesaal laas mu lost." Paarthurnax dragon seemed seemed surprised that the Dragonborn spoke so fluently in the Dragons tongue.
"You have been studying our tongue it seems," he spoke, "but your accent is fus, forced, you do not speak it as naturally as you should."
"Well when you leave me Odahviing as a teacher, you can expect results like that," Darion shrugged.
Paarthurnax stretched his long neck before looking back down to the Dragonborn. "Now, may I ask why I have been called away from my quest?"
"Forgive the intrusion," Darion said, "But I have questions that need answered."
Paarthurnax almost chuckled at this, if that's what it was he was doing, Darion thought. "Do rah, you always seem to expect me to know the answers."
"Only because you're the one who seems to know everything around here." Darion argued.
"Very well, what are your questions, Dovahkiin?"
Darion paced before the ancient creature, unsure of what to ask first. "I am… at odds with myself," he began. "I have fulfilled the prophesy, Alduin is dead. And I have been unsure what use a Dragonborn has in this world. I am the only one in existence, I have the power of a dragon and body of a mortal man. I've hunted bandits, trolls, vampires...other dragons." he said mournfully as his hand rested on his sword, its blade and hilt carved from the bones of his brethren.
"It is not a feeling I envy; to be alone in the world. I lived in such solitude for millennia until Alduin returned, bringing his followers with him." The two of them were silent for a moment. "I sense that you are at odds with more than just your place in the world, and your loneliness in it."
Darion toyed with the tips of his gloves, not wanting to touch the subject even though it had plagued his thoughts for days. "They bowed to me... people, at an inn. They knelt before me and pledged their service. I have never desired such a thing of anyone before. Yet I felt it to be my right, my birthright even. It is not a feeling that I enjoy." He turned to the dragon. "Was he like this? When he came to you?"
Paarthurnax tilted his head. "Who do you speak of, Dovahkiin?"
"Tiber Septim... I am told he was the last person besides the Greybeard to ever see you. Did he suffer this affliction as I do now when the Greybeards proclaimed him as Dragonborn?
"I did not proclaim his blood, as the other Greybeards did. I already felt the presence of his sossedov, and had no need to shout at the world to signal his coming."
"Did you meet him?"
"That I did," Paarthunax reflected. "He insisted on meeting me, on learning from me as you did." He fell silent for a moment, watching the mountaintop as if he saw that day unravelling before him then. "You should have seen him, Dohvahkiin, never before had there been one of his kind with that same cunning and ferocity in his eyes."
"What was he like?" Darion asked, desperate to know more.
At his question the Dragon smiled, and looked back to Darion. "He was very much like you, goraan ahrk jahrii do laan, young and full of questions, and expecting me to answer them all. We spoke for nearly a day before he departed, and as he left me I knew that the world below was about to change. For better or worse I had no idea." His blue eyes searched Darion's, as if the looking deep enough into them would tell him what the young mortal was thinking. " What you feel is no sickness of the body, what you feel is your innate desire. Even now, with all the world below you, feel it do you not? The same right that every Dovah is born with."
Darion fell silent for a moment."The will to power. The need to dominate. Why? Why now? I have never had any desire for anyone to bow to me!"
"Your soul is intertwined with that of Alduin now, and all other Dovah you have slain. Where once you were but the youngest and most meek among us, your thuum is now the strongest, your will the most unbreakable. You slew the first born of Akatosh, and now you desire a greater challenge, to test your strength further. It is only natural for you to feel this way, to feel that your presence should rightly impose on others."
"And if I do not want that? If I refuse to answer this... birthright?"
"It is a choice that you must make for yourself, Dovahkiin. You can choose to refuse the calling of your blood, as I have, and find peace." he fell silent for a moment. "Or give into your nature, and find the limit to your power, find your challenge and meet it head on. But I heed caution that you do not mistake your nature within your own desire. Otherwise you will find yourself with more blood on your hands than you need concern yourself with."
Darion slowly looked to his left hand, as if he could already feel warmth of blood on them. "And what if blood stains my hands, regardless of my will?" he asked. At this Paarthurnax began to extend his wings, flapping them with the force of a hurricane. The force of his wings slowly lifted him from the ground, throwing snow and stone all around the mountaintop, and he began to fly away, but not before leaving him with one final piece of counselling.
"Ni waan, hi fen lost sos nau hin haal." he spoke, his voice echoing in Darions head as his grey winged form disappeared into the horizon, returning to only the gods knew where.
Night had long fallen by the time the doors of High Hrothgar opened once more, Lydia's attention being dragged from her book to ancient metal doors. She breathed a sigh of relief as Darion stepped out into midnight air, his cloak dancing around him in the wind. She'd set up a meager camp outside the monastery, there was no fire but she set up a few candles alongside her bedroll that she stood from as he approached.
"So," she began slowly. "What did he say? Are you alright?"
Darion was silent for a moment before looking up at her. "No, no I don't think I am." He stepped away from her to the edge of the cliff, looking down the mountain once more to the world below. He could see nothing but the void staring back at him. He wondered for but a second whether he should jump, and spare the world his presence, but he quickly pushed the thought aside. "I'm dangerous, Lydia."
"No one in Skyrim is foolish enough to think otherwise," she joked as she joined him. "You're the Dragonborn after all. The title alone sounds dangerous."
"Exactly. People here that name and they think I am demigod. They kneel before me and surrender to me, begging for mercy. I hate it." He turned to her. "I hate it, and yet I want nothing as much as I want to see people bowing their heads to me, trembling in fear at my power."
Lydia put a hand on his shoulder. "Darion that's not you talking. You haven't been resting well, you-"
"No!" Arren pushed her arm away. "If I go back down there, if I can't control it, I will be a disaster just waiting to happen!"
She fell silent at his outburst, backing away a single step as she saw a fire within his eyes, and feared that same fire may come coursing from his throat. That look stayed on his face for a time before he pulled himself back, looking as shaken as he had been at the inn.
"I'm sorry..." he muttered as Paarthurnax's final words echoed in his mind.
Not if, you will have blood on your hands.
"It's alright Darion, it's me. You know you can trust me. You know I can help you." She slowly stepped toward him, placing her hand on his shoulder again, though this time much more slowly. "I'm not afraid. You know that."
"You should be, Lydia," he said, turning away from her, though she refused to let him escape her touch this time. "I'm a monster, waiting to be unleashed. If I can't control what I am, people will die."
"Then we find out how we control it," she said, stepping closer. "We will do it together, like we always have."
He shook his head. "Not this time." He turned back to her. "The only people who can teach me to control it are here, in High Hrothgar. And as far as I can see it, the only way for me to control it is to remain with them... in silence."
"In silence?" Lydia exclaimed. She had felt the rumbling of the mountain side many times when the Greybeards were simply whispering to one another, beyond that they lived their lives refusing to speak, the power of their voice too great to bear by any save Darion. "You want to stay here? In the monastery?" He remained silent for a time, and she knew that she had her answer. "Well... alright then. I'll go down to Ivarstead in the morning and pick up some supplies. I'm sure I can make a decent camp out here. I'll buy a tent, some more books, supplies. I'll wait here for as long as-"
"No," he said, cutting her off. "You're free to go. Back to Whiterun or wherever you desire."
Lydia shook her head. "My place is with you, you know that. You'll be a month at best, I can last that long on the mountainside, you know that."
"I'm not leaving here Lydia," he stated, and silenced settled between them.
She looked into his eyes, wanting to find some hint that he didn't mean what he said. Yet she knew him too well, she knew when he was lying, and this was not one of those times.
"I release you from your oath, Housecarl," he said.
"Darion... no..."
"I will be living the rest of my life up here Lydia. I must. I will never shout again if it means that the world will be safe from me."
"No, you-"
"Live well, Lydia. I wish nothing but happiness for you."
He began to turn and walk away then. He did not look back, no matter how much she wanted him to. She wanted to grab him by his hair and drag him back down the mountain. She wanted to scream at him, tell him that he was being foolish. She wanted him to tell her what was happening, why he was speaking like he did. More than anything she wanted to tell him...
"I hope you find what you're looking for Darion..." she said, quietly. She couldn't say the rest. He kept walking, stepping back behind the heavy doors of High Hrothgar that closed behind him before remaining still. She was left alone on the mountainside with naught but the horses and her tears to keep her company.
So this has come under some editing and changes compared to when I first wrote it. Hopefully someone doesn't read this in the time it takes me to go and edit the rest of it to match up, but we will see. If anyone does see this thought expect a few thing to change.
It's good to be back.
-xcaliber234