"Dovahkiin! Dragonborn! NOOO!" Mirmulnir's final words echoed in her head. Dragonborn. What could it mean? As she started to come down from her high, reality hit her like a horse.
She had just killed a dragon. A dragon. She had climbed on top of it. Physically touched it, and killed it. Staring down at Mirmulnir's corpse, she almost felt sorry for slaying such a magnificent creature. She leaned down and touched his brow, wondering if dragons had an afterlife.
Then he started smoking. She heard Ireleth yelling at everyone to step back as fires began spreading across his limp body. She backed up as fast as she could, watching the flames climb across his steadily burning body, smoke curling into the air.
Suddenly, the sound seemed to ebb away as a rushing noise filled her ears. A channel, or some kind of energy, was pouring out of Mirmulnir. And flowing directly into her.
The rush of power hit her like a wave, she staggered under its tremendous force. Fire filled her veins as the world dimmed. All she could feel was agony, as if her very being was resorting itself. Her features felt like they were being ripped apart. She heard chanting, so powerful that she fell to her knees, the only thing she was aware of was the torrent of primeval power entering her being, no, joining with her being. And then, it was over.
Kast! Zu'u los kast ko daar duraal staad! Dur hi Dovahkiin! Trapped! I am trapped in this cursed place! Curse you Dovahkiin!
With a shock, she realized that it was Mirmulnir. She had kept her composure the past two days, but now, with this, the fact that there was a dragon trapped in her mind? She didn't know if she could handle that. She realized that everything looked different as well. Colors were brighter, images were sharper, she could faintly smell the guards who stood aways away from her. Panic was beginning to seize her. What was happening? Did she just take Mirmulnir's...soul? No, such a thing was impossible!
Nid, no, you are of the dovahsos, the dragonblood. You proved yourself the stronger Dov, and thus I am subject to this torture. He sounded bitter, and for good reason. She would have gone insane being trapped in another's mind for the rest of their lives. Or maybe eternity, if he stayed with her in the afterlife. She hoped not, for his sake and hers.
She could hear the guards swarming towards her, clamoring like a flock of geese. One guard stopped in front of her.
"I can't believe it! You're….. Dragonborn…." She didn't know how to respond so she just looked at him, waiting for him to continue. "In the very oldest tales, back from when there were still dragons in Skyrim, the Dragonborn would slay dragons and steal their power. That's what you did isn't it? You absorbed the dragon's power?" She looked back at Mirmulnir's corpse. "I- I think you may be right." The guard looked like a child receiving a gift, excited he exclaimed, "Well go on! Try to shout!"
She nearly choked. Shout? The power like that that the Deathlord had used? It would make sense, though she doubted that the Deathlord had been a Dragonborn, perhaps explaining why it could only use one word. She shivered to think how much more powerful her shout would be.
She remembered the word. Fus. She inhaled deeply, sucking as much air into her lungs before shouting.
"FUS!" The word was no longer a whisper from a cracked, dead mouth, it was a living thing, a pressure that built in her chest and ripped out of her throat, a ripple of energy that shot past her, hitting Mirmulnir's skeleton, sending the heavy bones skidding across the golden tundra. Immediately, her throat felt tight, like something was constricting the airway.
Los tol praagek? Is that necessary? Must you mistreat my magnificent body so?
Sorry.
He just growled.
"The Thu'um! She summons the Thu'um!" She had forgotten about the guards, who were now whispering behind her. "Those born with the Dragon blood in 'em, like old Tiber Septim himself." "I never heard of Tiber Septim killing any dragons." Another man cuffed him on the head. "There weren't any dragons then, idiot. They're just now coming back for the first time in… forever. But the old tales tell of the dragonborn who could kill dragons and steal their power. You must be one! What do you say Ireleth? You're being awfully quiet." "Come on Ireleth tell us, do you believe in any of this Dragonborn business?"
She didn't know, or care really, what Ireleth would have said, for she had begun to walk away. The Jarl needed to know that the dragon was dead, and then she needed to go sort her shit out, but as she was returning, a thunderous rumble shook the ground.
"DOVAHKIIN" The shout took her by surprise, then she was gripped with a sudden urge to answer the call, to go challenge those who yelled her name. The shout had come from up on top of one of the many mountains that overlooked the tundra. Specifically, it came from the tallest mountain.
She was just so, incredibly tired. All she wanted to do was report to the Jarl then go crash onto the bed waiting for her in the Bannered Mare.
So with dragging feet, she trudged her way past the nervous, whispering guards, and the shocked, curious villagers, as she made her way up to Dragonsreach, cursing all of the stairs that she had to climb to get there. Stepping through the doors of the Jarl's home, she was instantly met with a wave of heat from the braziers to block against the cold night air, she sagged, the heat making it feel like her entire body was sagging and aggravating her burn wounds.
As she shuffled and limped up the dining hall, she made a promise, that someday, she would be able to walk into the halls of Dragonsreach without wanting to fall on her face. As soon as the Jarl saw her he stood up.
"By the nine woman, did you kill the dragon or did it use you as a chew toy?" She chuckled mirthlessly, "It's dead, but I might be soon if i don't get some sleep." He sat back down, a look of concern still on his face. "So what happened out there?" She sighed. "The watchtower was destroyed, but we killed the dragon and I… I absorbed… something from the dragon."
"So it's true." He whispered. "The Greybeards really were summoning you." She frowned. "The Greybeards?"
"Masters of the way of the voice. They live in seclusion high on the slopes of the Throat of the World." "What do these Greybeards want with me?" "The Dragonborn is said to be uniquely gifted in the way of the voice - the ability to focus your vital essence into a Thu'um, or a shout. If you really are Dragonborn, they can teach you how to use your gift. The Greybeards…" The man standing to Jarl Balgruuf's left spoke to her, standing tall in his scaled armour and fierce red war paint, "Didn't you hear the thundering sound as you returned to Whiterun? That was the voice of the Greybeards, summoning you to High Hrothgar! This hasn't happened in… centuries, at least. Not since Tiber Septim himself was summoned when he was still Talos of Atmora!"
Proventus stepped forward, "Hrongar, calm yourself." He said placatingly, as if soothing a dog. "What does all of this nord nonsense have to do with our friend here? Capable as she may be, I don't see any sign of her being this, what, 'Dragonborn'." She whirled on him and snarled, baring her teeth. Any more words that he might have said died on his lips as he instantly backed down from her. She was a little shocked with herself. She hadn't exactly grown up surrounded by people, but in all of her encounters she had never snarled at someone!
Aaaah, nii lost nal kun gon. It has already begun. His voice was laced with satisfaction.
She backed down, letting Hrongar argue with the little whelp, before Balgruuf cut back in, "Hrongar, don't be so hard on Avenicci." Proventus coughed, shaking off his discomfort. "I meant no disrespect, of course. It's just that… what do the Greybeards want with her?" Balgruuf sighed. "That is the Greybeards business, not ours. Whatever happened when you killed that dragon revealed something in you, and the Greybeards heard it. If they think you're Dragonborn, who are we to argue? You'd better get up to High Hrothgar immediately, there's no refusing the summons of the Greybeards. It's a tremendous honor. I envy you, you know. To climb the 7,000 steps again… I made the pilgrimage once, did you know that? High Hrothgar is a very peaceful place. Very… disconnected from the troubles of this world." He seemed to shake himself out of his reverie.
"You've done a great service for me and the city, Dragonborn. By my right as Jarl, I name you Thane of Whiterun. It's the greatest honor that's within my power to grant. I assign you Lydia as a personal housecarl, and this weapon from my personal armoury to serve as a badge of office." A guard stepped forward and gave her a beautifully crafted axe, with a soft handle and a gleaming edge as bright as dragon fire. "I'll also notify my guards of your new title. Wouldn't want them to think you're part of the common rabble, now would we? We are honored to have you as thane of our city Dragonborn." She bowed, turning to leave.
Before she could exit the hall, a woman in steel armor stopped her. She was attractive enough, with dark hair, warm brown eyes, and pale nordic skin. Yet she walked with a stiff gait and her eyes seemed a little… unfocused.
"Urm, hello?" "I am sworn to protect you with my life." A little touched in the head isn't she? Rek frolik hanzalik way hotrod boz. She looks stupider than a Giant's cow. She made to leave. "Don't you want me to come with you?" She thought of the Deathlord in Bleak Falls Barrow. What if she did get hurt? Surely having a bit of extra muscle wouldn't hurt. She sighed. "Don't make me regret this." "Of course not, Ma'am." She said with a lackadaisical smile. You will definitely regret this joor. Probably.
Upon arriving at the Bannered Mare, Madrigal trudged upstairs and hit the bed, not even caring that she was in full armor.
Joore, what are you doing? Sleeping. Fos dreh hi seik? What do you mean? Dov do not sleep. I'm not exactly a dragon am I? I have the body of a mortal, so I must therefore sleep. Geh, but I am no mere Joor, I cannot sleep. Figure it out. Pahlokaal joor! Hi dreh ni volk fos- But she was already fast asleep.
Dawn came, leaving her feeling like a hundred horses had trampled her. All of her injuries seemed to come alive again, pulsating with renewed vigor. She needed to buy some more poultices. Joor, that was terrible. I command you never to do that again. I have to do that every night, Mirmulnir. Ahnaar kosli ahnaar! Torture within torture! Not only must I reside in this unnatural bonding, but I must also participate in this fake death that leaves you vulnerable and unresponsive for hours! Sahlag joore! You can shut up now. But despite her protests, he kept grumbling to himself, thoroughly upset.
Ignoring him, she walked over to the small mirror on the side of the room to fix her unruly curls away from her face, but as she grabbed the mirror she almost dropped it in shock. She looked the same, for the most part, her light olive skin, freckles, dark red hair, and full, strong features, were all present, but her pupils were slitted, like, well, a dragon's, and her normal golden iris' were now the bright orange-yellow of fire. As a Bosmer, she already had slightly sharper teeth than the other races, but now they were serrated, and the canines were longer than she remembered.
Rinik pruzah, you are stronger now. Oh gods, someone's going to mistake me for a vampire and attack me. Nid, tell them you are Dovahkiin. Oh of course! Excuse me officer, i'm not a bloodthirsty blood sucker, i'm actually the ancient Dragonborn of legend! I do hope you understand and don't brutally slaughter me in the street please. Geh, practice is good. You're impossible.
She toed Lydia's prone form on the floor, trying to wake her up. The woman slept like a bear, and snored like one too. Lydia finally woke up when Madrigal pushed her onto her face, cutting off the woman's deep rumbling. Her first words upon waking were, "Yes, my Thane?"
"We're leaving. Get your stuff and let's go."
She hadn't had enough money to buy horses, and the damned carriage driver said Ivarstead was too difficult to reach with his cart, so that's how Madrigal found herself traveling in the wilds of southern Skyrim, following the wooden signs pointing to the small town. The road was difficult, full of winding paths and steep terrain, not to mention the sabercats and packs of wolves. At least the Rift was a pretty hold, abundant with lush maples, all in shades of yellow and orange, dappling the forest floor below in rich hues of amber as the sun set.
That night, she pitched their small leather tent underneath a sheltered copse of trees, lighting a fire as Lydia prepared the food. Sitting down with a sigh, Madrigal thought back to all that had happened.
Sure, the past three days had been the most hectic, confusing, downright terrifying days of her life, and yet… she wasn't upset. In fact, even past the whirlwind of ideas and emotions swirling about her head, she found herself at peace for perhaps the first time in her life. She wasn't about to go living as a pacifist monk in the woods but… some small part of her felt filled now. More complete.
She was however, slightly concerned about her new… features. Would they become more apparent with the more souls she took, or was this the limit of her transformation? She didn't want to ask Mirmulnir, her pride wouldn't allow it.
"Supper is done, Ma'am." She groaned as she stood up, making her way back to the campfire.
"Thank you, Lydia."
"Of course, Ma'am.
She may feel complete now, but she wasn't sure if she had ever felt lonelier.
Ivarstead was not an impressive town. Sure, the scenery was beautiful with it's cascading waterfalls and swirling river, but it seemed to be constantly in the shadow of the Throat of the World, never really being able to show off it's own positives with the fabled mountain standing right above it. The burned down house across the river and the whopping three buildings didn't help either.
The sun was still high in the sky, so she didn't bother renting a room at the quaint little inn, instead she kept walking, striding past the mill and tiny farmer house until she reached a small stone bridge leading to the beginning of the fabled path that led to High Hrothgar. With a sigh she began her trek.
Just a few steps into the trail she found an etched stone tablet, thick, and almost as tall as she was. On its worn surface read: Before the birth of men, the Dragons ruled all of Mundus; Their word was the voice, and they spoke only for true needs; For the voice could blot out the sky and flood the land
The tablet stopped there. More tablets must be dispersed throughout the path, telling the story of the voice. Her small party continued on, fighting off wolves, frostbite spiders and bears as they went up the ever ascending stairs. Finally, she saw the second tablet, a hunter kneeling by it, praying as he placed flowers in an offering bowl.
- Men were born and spread over the face of Mundus; The Dragons presided over the crawling masses; Men were weak then, and had no voice -
As the steps became steeper and the temperature steadily dropped, more tablets appeared.
- The fledgling spirits of Men were strong in the Old Times; Unafraid to war with Dragons and their Voices; But the Dragons only shouted them down and broke their hearts -
The fourth tablet was hidden behind a bush, and took her a while to find whilst Lydia began to complain about the cold.
- Kyne called on Paarthurnax, who pitied Man; Together they taught Men to use the Voice; Then Dragon war raged, Dragon against Tongue -
She wanted to know more, and cursed the vagueness of the stones. Couldn't they have written the story on one single tablet?
Farther on, she saw the fifth nestled amongst an outcropping of rock.
- Man prevailed, shouting Alduin out of the world; Proving for all that their Voice too was strong; Although their losses were many-fold -
"Ma'am, perhaps we should consider camping." With a shock, Madrigal realized that Lydia was right, as the sky was indeed beginning to descend over the mountain tops. How had time escaped her so? Besides, she wasn't very good at reading, or speaking, Modern Tamrielic. On top of that, the wind was positively freezing, and she wasn't a hardy Nord like Lydia.
With a resigned huff, she began starting the campfire as Lydia prepared the tent. Ready to face another day in this strange world, that is, if she didn't freeze while she was sleeping.
The sun woke her as it streamed through the slit of her fur tent. At some point in the night it looked like her and Lydia had huddled together for warmth. With a grunt she shoved the bigger woman off and began dressing. Yesterday had been brutal on her bare feet, as tough as they were, so she wrapped them in furs before sliding her leather breeches on.
After several attempts, she managed to get Lydia up and dismantle the campsite, stopping to stare at the beauty of the scene around them, hazy early morning light washing the valley below them in a misty golden glow as the world woke up. She breathed in the snowy mountain air before turning on her heel and heading up the path once more.
The sixth stone lay next to a crumbling cairn with a tattered red streamer whipping in the wind. She brushed the snow and hoarfrost off of the cold tablet face and began to read.
- With roaring Tongues, The Sky-Children conquer; Founding the First Empire with Sword and Voice; Whilst the Dragons withdrew from this world -
The seventh etching beheld a young woman in hide armour sitting in front of the stone, simply sitting there looking at peace.
"On your way up the 7000 steps? I confess i've never made the pilgrimage myself, but I enjoy the view." Madrigal nodded to the woman as she sat down, hissing as the wet cold sank through her pants. Damn Nords.
The Tongues at Red Mountain went away humbled; Jurgen Windcaller began his seven year Meditation; To understand how strong voices could fail -
She stood back up, sending a light flurry of snow drifting. She nodded to the hunter, sending her a farewell as she continued.
Up ahead was a rocky overhang covered in snow, and Divines did it stink. Suddenly, a roar shook the mountain side as a massive Frost Troll jumped down from the rocks, raising its arms in challenge as it charged them.
Lydia dashed forward, raising her axe as she bashed with her shield. Madrigal wasn't wearing steel plating and a shield like her compatriot, one hit from its massive muscle bound arms could spell disaster for her, so instead she kept back, and began firing balls of flame as the creature.
As soon as the fire touched the beast, it lit up like dry tinder as it bellowed in rage. The wounds that Lydia had delivered with her axe had all disappeared thanks to the Troll's superior healing capabilities, but the burn marks that spread across its body didn't seem to fade.
Grinning, she lobbed fireball after fireball at the Troll as Lydia kept hacking away at its beefy torso, red slashes spreading across its now steaming body.
Finally, the Frost Troll dropped dead, creating a puddle of blood in the muddy snow. She bent down to harvest its three eyes and meat, gagging at the awful stench of burnt fur. Shuddering she continued on, she almost passed the tablet hidden in a crevice.
Jurgen Windcaller chose silence and returned; The seventeen disputants could not shout him down; Jurgen the Calm built His home on the Throat of the World -
High Hrothgar couldn't be much farther ahead. She hefted her pack and motioned for Lydia to continue, making an effort not to plummet off the slippery cliff face as they hugged the slim rock ledge. Damn it was cold. Winter was just a month or two away, she hoped she didn't have to make this trek again when it was truly cold, else she wouldn't make it to the top.
The rest of the trail passed in relative ease, it appeared no more creatures lived this far up in the clouds. There, perched on the side of the path lay the ninth wayshrine, snow piling up around it.
For years all was silent, the Greybeards spoke one name; Tiber Septim, stripling then, was summoned to High Hrothgar; They blessed and named him Dovahkiin -
Tiber Septim, who founded the Septim Empire and was worshipped as the God-Man Talos, was Dragonborn like herself. How in the world did she get chosen as Dragonborn? She was just some nobody orphan from Valenwood. Akatosh better know what he was doing.
You are weak to fret so. Pull yourself together joor. She was a bit surprised to hear Mirmulnir again, as he had been silent for most of the journey. Is that supposed to reassure me? Geh, now move before your body begins to freeze. She just sighed at his reproachful tone, pushing her feet through the snow once more.
High Hrothgar was truly an impressive building. It was not as tall or ornately carved as perhaps Dragonsreach, but there was a solid, indomitable presence about the sturdy grey stones standing sentinel over the mountain side. The final stone lay just before the branching staircases that led to two bronze doors.
The Voice is worship; Follow the Inner Path; Speak only in true need -
Kras yun rot. I hope that they do not make you abide by that foolish rule. They can't. Surely I have to use my voice to fight. Hin vat los ven. Do not be so sure. He was being paranoid. She was sure that the Greybeards were a reasonable sort. Eagerly, she walked up the stone steps, pushing open the heavy metal doors.
Instantly she was greeted with sweltering warmth. The interior of High Hrothgar was dark, lit only by braziers and prayer candles. Lydia opened the door behind her, letting the biting wind cut through the monastery. They both stood there, appreciating the warmth as it washed over their cold bones. An old man in grey robes with a long, shaggy grey beard approached.
"So… a Dragonborn appears, at this moment in the turning of the age." She bowed. "I'm answering your summons, Atbal." He smiled warmly. "We will see if you truly have the gift. Show us Dragonborn. Give us a taste of your Voice."
She didn't want to hurt him and the other Greybeards, but if he asked for it, then he would receive. She sucked down a lungfull of air, then summoned her power.
She could feel the warmth bloom in her chest, rising up in her throat. "FUS." The ripple of energy flew from her lips, causing the old men to stumble backwards as ceramic pots went flying in the background, crashing loudly on the stone floors.
"It's you, welcome to High Hrothgar Dragonborn. I am Master Arngeir. I speak for the Greybeards. Now tell me Dragonborn, why have you come here?" She breathed deeply and met his pale blue eyes. "I want to know what it means to be Dragonborn, Eshat."
