I wake up, feeling my head pound as though I had one too many drinks at The Bannered Mare last night. My vision is blurry and for a second, as it begins to sharpen, I think I'm laying safely in my bed in Proudspire Manor. When my eyes finally focus completely, I see that I'm not laying on a warm bed but rather on a patch of soft grass, with a skeleton leering over me. I react instinctively, words exploding out of my mouth before I have a chance to think, just desperate to rid myself of that alarming face.
FUS RO DA!
The words escape my lips, but the skeleton doesn't go flying as I expected. There isn't the usual magic behind the words. I lay there stunned for a few seconds before to skeleton draws a sword and stabs downward, aiming for a chink in my armor. Cursing, I roll out of the way and stand up, the pounding in my head intensifying as I do, nearly knocking me off my feet with what feels like a physical force. My hands shaking slightly, I draw my sword, nearly dropping it. Since when have I been this weak? Maybe the greybeards will know what happened to me, although I burned that bridge long ago.
The skeleton steps toward, bones creaking. I manage to swing my sword at it, causing it collapse as though it was Dwemer automata that lost its power source. The blow seemed to sap all of my remaining strength. My legs begin to shake and I collapse onto the ground once more. Reaching around to my back, I find that I still have my pack. Thank Talos no one stole it. I claw my pack off and pull out a bedroll and lay it on the ground, crashing into immediately, not even bothering to take off my armor.
I dreamed of fire. A moonless night, lit by a burning city. I try to walk around, to find some place that escaped the destruction, but everything is choked with smoke and burning to ashes. Suddenly, everything is ripped away. What had once been painfully bright is no pitch black. The sound of a lute echoes through the darkness. A singing voice spread out "And the voice of the hero shall be silenced, the lineage of the dragons burned by the fires of oblivion." As the voice continues to sing, a fierce pain engulfs me. It feels like I'm being burned from the inside out.
Just when it feels like I can't take anymore, a cool hand places itself on my shoulder, rousing me and banishing the pain. My eyes slowly open, feeling like they had been shut for years. Standing over me is a concerned looking argonian, dressed in mage's robes with a hood partially obscuring his face. "Are you alright, friend? Can you stand?" He reaches out his hand and pulls me up, but as I begin to stand, a searing pain courses through my legs. I collapse, wincing in pain. The argonian grabs my shoulder again, preventing me from falling. Where his hand touches my shoulder, a gentle, homely warmth spreads out, beating back the pain and making me feel rejuvenated.
"There. You should feel a little better now. Can you stand, Dragonborn?" He pulls me to my feet again. This time, despite being unsteady on my feet, I'm able to stand by leaning on him. "Who are you? What's your name?" I demand from him. He smiles. "I am Gawain, nothing more than a humble mage." I scowl, trying to push myself away from this complete stranger, only to be prevented from falling by him once more. "What do you want from me?" I try to shout but my voice only comes out as a whisper. Gawain looks surprised. "Nothing. I only seek to help you, Dragonborn." My scowl deepens. "I don't trust you. But I suppose I have no choice but to accept your help. I'm not in good enough shape to get to High Hrothgar on my own." His face creases with worry. "High Hrothgar? That's almost all the way across Skyrim. What are you doing here then?"
I hold up my hands, confused. "Wait. Where are we?" He gestures to around us. "Bthardamz, a dwarven ruin just outside Markath." I look around, not believing my eyes. "Markarth? How in oblivion did I get here?!" Gawain sighs. "How should I know? The more important question is how we get to High Hrothgar from here. As you said, you're clearly in no condition to travel." He goes silent and puts his hand to his chin as if he is in deep thought. After a moment, he grabs my arm tightly. "Well, I suppose I could do this." Without letting go of my arm, he raises his other hand, which has a glowing sigil on it, and snaps his fingers, the sound seeming to echo through my entire body. Everything fades away for a second, until all my sensations are gone. The only thing that seems to exist is my own thoughts.
Suddenly, everything comes rushing back, accompanied by a blinding light. I blink, and as the light begins to fade, I begin to recognize my surroundings as High Hrothgar. I turn around to Gawain. "How in oblivion did we get here?!" He grins and puts a finger to his lips. "Secret. Now, isn't there something you needed to do?" That smug grin of his irritates me. "Fine, But I will ask you about this later." I trudge toward the doors of the monastery, stumbling a little. They creak as they open as if they haven't been used for years. As soon as I enter, I see Arngeir sitting in the entrance, meditating. When he sees me, he stands up immediately, anger filling his eyes. "Dragonborn, what are you doing here? You are no longer welcome in High Hrothgar!" I raise my hands up in a pleading gesture, ignoring his anger. "Look, I know you must hate me. But I need your help. Can't we put our problems aside, at least temporarily? It's important." His eyes blaze, a quiet anger in his voice. "What could possibly be that important?" I hesitate before pressing on with my story. "I was attacked by draugr. They overwhelmed me and, well something happened. I don't know what they did to me, but I can't use the voice anymore." Arngeir lapses into silence for several minutes, an expression of shock replacing his one of rage. Finally, he begins to speak. "I thought I sensed something different about you. I know not how this happened, but you have lost Akatosh's gift of dragonblood. In other words, you are no longer Dragonborn."
