Wooo! My exams are almost over, so I thought I'd take a break from revision and update this. It's a little shorter than normal, but the length of the next chapter should hopefully make up for it. Hope you all enjoy as usual!
"Is that it?" Kyra asked, annoyed. "It took him three months to contact you, and all he said was that he didn't know?"
The Greybeards all sat opposite her. Arngeir looked stern, but Wulfgar kept flashing her quick grins. She had formed a close friendship with him - more so than any of the others - and although communication proved to be a problem at the start, they managed to use mimes and lip reading to get by.
"He didn't explicitly say that. He only thought that the feeling you encounter with the Dov is worth investigating. He doesn't dismiss anything lightly - especially if there has been no recorded instances of this happening before," Arngeir said.
Kyra sighed, tipping back in her seat in a rather childish motion. "So what happens now?"
"He will continue scouring his memory for anything that could be related. As for you, we would usually send the Dovahkiin on a journey to find the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller, but in this case, there is no need for you to do that. You have proven your skill with the voice, and your ability to stay true to the path of the thu'um. I think it would be more useful for you to find your own way now, and use the thu'um as you have been taught. If Paarthurnax remembers anything of importance, we will summon you again. If not, we will summon you anyway to continue the next stage of your training."
She nodded, surprised that she felt sad to go. Although she missed the world below, the solemn quietness of the winding corridors had allowed her the chance to think clearly. She felt almost refreshed - she needed the break from the disorganized crowds of people. And she would miss the silent humour of Wulfgar, who was currently whistling a jaunty tune - apparently it was impossible for the thu'um to be present in a whistle.
"I'll plan to leave tomorrow then, it'll give me enough time to gather my things," she said.
"Of course," Arngeir said. "But please, don't feel any need to rush. You are welcome here for as long as you wish."
She smiled, grateful and tapped her foot on the floor. She felt fidgety. "Thank you. But I really do need to be going. I told someone I would help them in out in a cause that was important to them, and it's been quite a few months since that."
"Which cause was this?" Arngeir asked, his brow furrowing.
Kyra paused, rapidly tapping her fingers on the table. Throughout her stay she had gathered that Arngeir disapproved of Ulfric Stormcloak using the thu'um to forward his own cause. No doubt Arngeir would try and persuade her out of it if she revealed she was going to join the rebellion too. So she just shook her head, flexing her fingers, and Arngeir dropped the subject.
"Very well. I will talk to you tomorrow before you leave, but rest of the afternoon is free for you to do as you wish."
She nodded again and stood up, still feeling restless. "Thank you," she muttered, and hurried out of the room. She headed straight to the courtyard, only pausing to grab her swords. She needed to get rid of the excess energy that was quivering in her muscles.
Soft snow was falling in flurries as she approached the centre of the courtyard and paused. She unsheathed her swords and crossed them gently over one another, perfectly in line with her chest and breathed in. She centered her mind, letting her senses focus outwards - on the soft sound of snow falling, on the bite of coldness against her cheeks, on the fresh scent that carried on the wind. Then she drew back into herself - feeling her heart beat in her chest, hearing her breath run smoothly along her throat. She was motionless, holding everything in place, feeling everything hover in time.
And then she shouted, releasing everything at once as she exploded into action. Her swords thrummed through the air, carving a smooth path that carried her forwards. Her feet moved in time as she spun around, and jabbed, easily moving through the familiar motions. She controlled her breathing, feeling it rasp in her mouth, and flowed from one pose to the next, her muscles effortlessly carry her along as she relaxed into the stances. She leapt into the air, much higher than she could normally have jumped, slashing out with her swords and then driving them forwards into the swirling snow. She was panting now, her muscles starting to ache but she carried on, getting lost to the fluid motions.
Her sense of time vanished. By the time she stopped, darkness was descending and the sky was lit by a golden sunset. She panted, trying to draw air into her lungs and let her swords slip from her grasp - her muscles were aching too much for her to keep hold of them. They fell with a soft metallic clang but she barely heard them.
Her head was swimming and her legs were shaking but she ignored them both, instead making her way to the edge of the mountain. Despite the oncoming night, she could see for miles around. Skyrim was stretched out in front of her in all its glory, and it seemed so far away and distant, like she was peering through a window. But her worries certainly weren't remote - they stayed with her, pressing at the edge of her mind. Alduin. Dovahkiin. Prophesies. Morrowind.
Conflicting thoughts battled for dominance. She didn't want to be tied to a prophecy. She was her own person now and if she was to defeat Alduin, she wanted it to be on her terms. But prophecies don't generally allow people to entertain their whims - the very definition of prophecy meant something that couldn't be avoided. Even if she tried to run - and she was so very good at running away. She had run hard and fast and somehow she had ended up exactly where she didn't want to be - it would become a self-fulfilling prophecy. She had no choice and she hated it.
She sighed, idly watching her breath swirl in the brittle coldness. The iciness was sharp in her nose as she carefully took in a breath, regaining control of her body. She was in control.
Kyra stayed until the sun disappeared behind the horizon before going inside.
The morning she was due to leave, Arngeir revealed that there was something he wanted to give her.
"I can have any book? Whichever one I chose?"
"I generally say what I mean and this is no exception." He gestured with his hands. "Any one you want."
They were standing in the library, books towering tall above them. Kyra had fallen in love with it during her stay. The gleaming mahogany bookshelves somehow seemed to collect no dust and the room was filled with the soft aroma of old books. She sniffed - scents of vanilla and wood wafted towards her.
With a final glance towards Arngeir to make sure he was happy for her to chose any book, she headed for the nearest shelf, running her fingers along the spines of each volume. They were all interesting to a certain degree, but none really caught her attention so she headed to the next shelf.
After half an hour of searching, she had collected four books that looked potentially interesting. There were two on the finer details of the Dovah-Zul, one on the hidden secrets of Skyrim and the last one looked at the Dragon Wars.
She agonised over the decision and had almost decided on a book when she happened to look up at the shelf directly above her. A book caught her attention, the silver embossed writing on the spine seeming to stand out amongst the multitude of books. The title was written in an obscure language, but the flowing script was elegant and refined.
Despite herself, her attention was piqued and she gently picked it up, trailing her fingers over the leather cover. The front was plain save for a small crescent in the upper corner and the spine crackled as she opened it. She winced in sympathy.
Strangely enough, she could understand the language inside, even if she couldn't understand the title. She skimmed through it, reading briefly over a few passages and realised it was about summoning. Summoning weapons, armour, Daedra. She frowned and was about to put it down - she had little skill for magic and a hatred towards necromancers and their twisted rituals - but a passage caught her eye. She tilted her head and started to read.
"It is a well known fact that necromancers are looked down on by the general population - their rites are filled with sacrifices and blood - but despite their casual disregard of life, it has only been outlawed in Morrowind.
Although there is no law to persecute necromancers in Skyrim, that doesn't prevent vigilantes from hunting them down and the law turning a blind eye.
Unfortunately for many, myself included, people make the general assumption that summoning is the same branch of magic as necromancy. In many ways it is, as it comes under the rather general term of conjuration. But to refer to either necromancy or summoning as conjuration is altogether incorrect. There has been supposition that this term was coined by a mage who had no skill or experience in either - yet the term stuck. However, conjuration essentially means 'to create'. Necromancy does not create anything, not even life, and only uses what is already freely given - or forcibly taken.
Summoning is more often referred to as conjuration, due to the common misconception that we create Daedra to do our bidding. Yet that couldn't be further from the truth - we do not create, we summon. The object or Daedra in question was there before us and it will be after us. Summoners are only providing it with a means to travel to Mundus and thus must treat the summoned with equal respect and fear.
There is one crucial distinction between necromancy and summoning - necromancy involves the dead, for which sacrifices and pain are needed, and summoning involves Oblivion. When a necromancer reanimates a dead body, they do not summon the soul - they only give enough life force to the body for it to have a simple consciousness, enough for them to walk and obey their master. Summoning, on the other hand, reaches into Oblivion itself.
Most Summoners are familiar with the spell to conjure a flame atronach. The spell itself calls to the flame atronach, giving them a pathway to Mundus, where they appear next to their Summoner. Despite people's assumptions, it is the same Daedra that appears every time, and although it is rare, a conversation between Summoner and Daedra has been known to happen.
Skilled Summoners can create stronger bonds to hold the summoned. Even if the Daedra wished to turn on their Summoner, it would require a lot of power to break the bonds.
This same theory applies to the rest of the Daedra, as well as weapons and armour. A specific Summoner creates the pathway for a specific item in Oblivion, and every time they use the spell, the same Daedra or item will appear. The time the summoned remain in Mundus depends on the skill of the summoner, and more powerful Daedra, like Dremora, requite a stronger pathway for them to reach Mundus."
Kyra sat back, intrigued. She knew she shouldn't be, but that simple passage had changed most of her preconceived perceptions about necromancy and summoning.
Making a split second decision, she carefully picked the book up and headed out the door to meet Arngeir. He was standing in the corridor as she exited but looked around when she approached.
"Which have you decided on then?" he asked, slowly walking down the corridor.
Kyra walked by his side and held out the book so he could see. He evidently recognised it because his eyebrows rose and he glanced at her briefly.
"An interesting choice," he said slowly. "I hope I don't need to warn you of the dangers this could cause. I urge caution."
She nodded. "I know. It was purely curiosity that led me to pick it up - I just want to read it, not necessarily practice it."
"All the same. Curiosity can turn into interest, and there is a fine line between interest and obsession. Take care you don't stray over that line."
She hated goodbyes. They always signified the end of something. Once goodbyes were said, it felt like there was no going back. Even something as casual as saying goodbye to Wulfgar made her cold all over and it was an effort to keep her smile on her face.
She knew she would be back here. She knew she would see them all again - and really, it wasn't like any of them were particularly close to her or she had been completely enthralled with her stay, even if she had enjoyed it. But it was an end. And nothing good ever came from an ending.
But she smiled and waved and said goodbye even as it made her throat ache and set off down the mountain, taking care not to slip on the treacherous ice. Her fists stayed clenched all the way down the mountain and it was only when she reached the streets of Ivarstead that she relaxed slightly.
She was surprised at how accustomed she had become to never seeing more than four people together at the same time. Here, there were people chatting and laughing with each other, crowding the narrow streets with their voices. The flood of sound washed over her as she stood in the middle of the street. People parted around her but none of them touched her.
Shaking herself, she straightened her shoulders. A little difficulty adjusting was bound to be expected - she only hoped she would get used to communicating with people soon. But right now, she had an aim. Her hand lightly resting against her sword, she set off in the direction of Windhelm.
The journey didn't take too long and she strolled through the scenery, enjoying the feeling of being surrounded by forests and sun and animals again. As she walked, she listened to the bird song and tried to identify the species. It took a little rummaging around in her memories to start with, but before long, she could name most of them. Her mother had taught her well.
Gradually, the sun dappled forest floor began to be replaced by snow and ice, frozen twigs cracking as she stepped on them. The walls of Windhelm rose up in the distance, but it took a lot of off-road journeying and skirting frozen pools before she stood in front of the impressively large gates.
Seems as though Ulfric is compensating for something, she thought and chuckled quietly to herself. She stopped, feeling awkward when a guard eyed her with amusement. She quickly headed inside to save herself from further embarrassment.
Windhelm was a vast expanse of sprawling buildings and twisting allies. It was cold and crumbling, but some of its forming glory was evident in the style and architecture of the buildings, and a flicker of the way the people carried themselves. But for every person that walked with a spring in their step, there was at least two more that looked tired and weary. War wasn't kind on people.
As she entered through the grand doors, she saw a small scuffle emerge to her side. Two Nords, evidently drunk, were harassing a young female Dunmer. She looked annoyed but accepting, as though this had happened many times before.
Protectiveness flared up in Kyra, and she marched forwards, positioning herself between the Dunmer and the Nords. She glowered at them and they looked a little confused that this short female was stopping them from having their fun. They eventually recovered themselves and glared back.
"An' just what do ya think you're doin'? You an elf lover then?"
When Kyra stayed silent and didn't move, he took that as a yes and laughed in her face. "Ya call yourself a Nord? You're a betrayer, an elf lover. You're no better than 'er. Ulfric should toss yer all out the city!"
He laughed again. Kyra saw his teeth were rotting and grew tired of the one-sided conversation. She smoothly drew her sword and laid it gently across his throat, the metal cold. His hands went to his weapon but Kyra unsheathed her other sword and rapped the flat side against his knuckles as a warning. He visibly swallowed, his anger changing to fear. His companion just looked a bit lost.
"H-hey, careful love. It was jus' a bit of fun! The elf was part of it too," he tried, his eyes flicking to the Dunmer who had stepped out from behind Kyra and was fixing him with a glare.
With a quick strike, the Dunmer slapped him. Hard. He yelled and cursed but didn't move in fear of the sword.
Kyra raised an eyebrow. "Go," she said simply.
Removing her sword, she looked expectantly at the man and with one last muttering about crazy females, he withdrew and disappeared down an alley. Damn, I hope the rest of the Stormcloaks aren't as arrogant as that.
The Dunmer stared after them, her back to Kyra. "I did not need your help stranger."
Kyra just smiled, waiting for the inevitable reaction that was bound to follow. The Dunmer tore her eyes away from their retreating backs and turned around to face Kyra. At first, she simply frowned in faint recognition. But then she glanced at Kyra's eyes, at their unique colouring. Eyes growing wide and mouth open, she recoiled as though struck.
"But-but your eyes. Nightingale? Is that you?" The Dunmer was spluttering.
Kyra hummed. "I was curious about whether any Dunmer would recognise me as far away as Skyrim. It seems you do."
"It is you…forgive me, Nightingale, for not accepting your help. If I had known it was you-"
"Don't worry about it. You know I take little offense to anything."
"Of course. But accept my apology anyway." The Dunmer shifted, her eyes darting nervously at the people around them and Kyra followed her gaze. Most who passed seemed too preoccupied with their own thoughts but several glanced at them as they walked by. Animosity flickered in their eyes as they saw the Dunmer and confusion took its place when they took note of Kyra standing next to her.
She turned back to the Dunmer. "What is your name?"
"Senethys."
Kyra smiled. "Well, Senethys, I need a place to stay for tonight. Do you know a good inn?"
"There's always Candlelit Hall. It's easily the most common. But, um, there's another…smaller inn. Nords generally don't go there because it's located in the grey area."
"Candlelit Hall sounds boring. But this smaller inn? Do you think you could take me there?"
Senethys bobbed her head, looking nervous. "Of course Nightingale. But it isn't exactly posh or anything…" She trailed off and Kyra frowned.
"I'm sure it isn't too bad. I've stayed in worse places." She hesitated, looking at Senethys expectantly who still looked a little uncertain but started off. Kyra followed her, careful not to slip on the ice.
They didn't walk for long but as they continued, Kyra took note of the gradual decline of Nords and the increase of derelict houses and poor sanitation.
The narrow alley they headed down was strewn with forgotten rubbish and it was difficult placing her feet. The tall buildings towered above her but paint was flaking off and mismatched holes dotted the wall where bricks had crumbled away under the pressure. A faded flag drooped from a building, slowly flapping in the wind but lacking the energy to stand proud.
Everywhere she looked, she saw Dunmer - their faces cast towards the ground and their backs stooped from the hopelessness that hung in the air. Only a few raised their heads as she passed, and even fewer took the time to glance at her eyes and recognise her. Those that did instantly brightened, their grime-caked faces showing a glimmer of hope that shouldn't have looked out of place but did. They walked off with their heads held a little higher and their walk a little livelier.
She felt sick. The scene passed across her view and she swallowed, unable to tear her eyes from the surroundings. She didn't care that she had left the legacy of Nightingale behind her in Morrowind - the Dunmer still looked up to her and she couldn't let them down. Not again.
Please review just to let me know if there's anything you'd like to see in here - I'm open to all ideas!
